


Building a Secret

by MaurianasRavenholdt



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Dick Grayson - Fandom, Robin - Fandom
Genre: Brief suicidal ideation, Civilian Focus, Distracted Dad Bruce, Galas, GoodDad!Bruce, Grooming, M/M, Racism, Young Dick Grayson, child molestation, good dad bruce - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaurianasRavenholdt/pseuds/MaurianasRavenholdt
Summary: Galas were a part of Dick Grayson’s life. And socialites are rarely on their best behavior. But some attendees have more malevolent intentions than others.**While this story is sad and dark, it is not intended to be pornographic or titillating. It is based on a realistic look at grooming behavior and how some children become especially vulnerable. True grooming can takemonths before a perpetrator begins to abuse their victim. I’ve accelerated the typical time table for narrative purposes, but left intact the variety of red flag behaviors used by real people to exploit children**
Comments: 190
Kudos: 274





	1. The First Time

When Dick stepped out onto the marble ballroom floor, in his first ever tux, at his first ever gala, a single thought instantly crystallized. 

This was going to suck. 

But Bruce _needed_ him to be on his “absolute best behavior and I mean it”, so he took a deep, steadying breath, and continued into the fray, just a single pace behind his guardian. Of course, it wasn’t long before his suspicions were confirmed. A cadre of women sidled up to greet Brucie Wayne, and squealed with delight as their eyes fell on Dick. 

“So _this_ is the new addition, Brucie? He’s absolutely _gorgeous_ ,” a blonde woman gushed. She grabbed Dick’s chin and tilted it up to look at his face. “And those _eyes_! With that dark skin? How _exotic_!” 

“Wonderful to see you Lara, we’ll catch up soon! Right now I have to talk shop with someone from the foundation.” Bruce put a steadying hand on Dick’s shoulder and steered him away from the whining, pouting group. When they were clear, for a moment, Bruce knelt down and made eye contact with his young charge. “Sorry about that, chum. She shouldn’t have talked about you like that. These people work on a different set of rules than you or me. They can sometimes be…”

“Rude?” Dick supplied. 

Bruce smiled and agreed, “exactly. The problem is that, even though they’re rude, they do a _lot_ of good for the city…” 

Bruce was fumbling for an explanation, but Dick understood. “It’s a performance. We put on a show, make ‘em happy, and they donate money. Easy peasy.” 

Chuckling, Bruce ruffled Dick’s hair. “Alfred’s right. You _are_ wise beyond your years.” He got to his feet and placed a hand back on Dick’s shoulder. “Shall we?” 

Much of the evening was a blur. Dick got used to the “oohs” and “ahhs” whenever Bruce introduced him to someone new. He even stopped cringing at the word ‘exotic’ when it was used to describe him. Or his looks. Or his background. Harder to ignore were the whispers. Occasionally Bruce had to leave him loosely supervised, and he could hear hushed accusations behind his back. 

“Why do you _think_ a man like Wayne would take in such a beautiful boy? I bet he was worried that his ‘tourism’ in Thailand was coming under scrutiny and decided to buy something to keep in his own bed.”

“No,” came the scandalized reply, “you think Brucie Wayne…”

“I’m just saying, it’s awfully suspicious.” 

Dick understood _enough_ of what they were insinuating. They thought Bruce was his _owner_ , something so far from the truth. He wanted to whip around and scowl at them. Call them out and tell them the truth. But Bruce had said “best behavior” and he had promised. So he kept his eyes fixed forward and kept his tongue behind his teeth. 

By the end of the third hour he was exhausted. He’d never really had a set bedtime with his parents or Bruce, but midnight the day after a patrol with Batman was pushing it. He was only ten, after all. And as Alfred was fond of reminding him, “growing boys need their sleep.” Truthfully, though, it was more than just ‘tired’. His skin felt raw from all the examining touches and ‘loving’ pinches. His lungs ached with the urge to scream at all of these insufferable adults with their superior attitudes. 

He was about to ask to be excused when Bruce pulled him close to an older couple. “Dick, I’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Ellison. Mrs. Ellison is on the board of directors for the Martha Wayne Foundation. She’s currently heading a project to secure funding for a city-wide meal program for all school aged kids over the summer. Without her, a lot of kids won’t eat.” 

Dick nodded politely, and shook the hands offered to him. Even in this brief interaction, he _liked_ the Ellisons. They were the first people all night who didn’t treat him either like a curiosity or a piece of furniture to be ignored. They looked him in the eye when they talked to (not about) him, and smiled genuinely. He let his mind wander as the adults talked about fiscal years and funding quotas. So he was a bit surprised when he came up again in conversation. 

“I _know_ it’s gauche to discuss business at a gala, Bruce, but I’m afraid it can’t wait. Harold will happily sit with your boy while we talk somewhere privately.” 

Bruce looked at Dick, then at Harold, considering. “I won’t be long, chum. Best behavior, ok? Listen to everything Mr. Ellison says, he’s in charge.” 

Nodding solemnly, Dick took a seat next to the man at a small, round table, and watched as Bruce and Mrs. Ellison disappeared into the study off of the ballroom.

“If I’m in charge,” the man smiled jovially, “then the first order of business is for you to call me Harry, not ‘Mr. Ellison’. I want us to be friends.” Under the table, Harry patted Dick’s knee, then rested his large palm on the boy’s leg.

Dick resisted the urge to squirm away. After all, Bruce had said these people didn’t understand usual social boundaries. Maybe this was the _new_ normal. Maybe Mr. Ellison was friendly, even if his hand _had_ begun kneading the soft flesh of Dick’s upper thigh. None of those reassurances stopped Dick’s heart from pounding, or a soft whine from escaping his throat, when Harry wrapped an arm around the back of the boy’s chair and moved his fingers higher. 

Dick’s eyes darted around the ballroom, trying to silently catch the attention of any of the partygoers, but everyone was too focused on their own conversations to notice the distressed boy in the corner. 

“Shhh,” Harry cooed in Dick’s ear. “We’re friends now, it’s ok. And Mr. Wayne said I was in charge. You would probably get in a _lot_ of trouble if I had to tell him you wouldn’t listen to me and sit still.” 

Harry’s hand moved higher still, to Dick’s crotch, and the boy jolted, but didn’t move from his seat. “You’re such a beautiful boy. My grandkids don’t come and visit anymore, and I love spoiling kids your age. A boy like you _needs_ a friend like me. We could go camping together, take a trip to the beach. Get you away from all these society folks who don’t understand what a boy like you deserves.” 

Abruptly, the hand was gone, and Harry was leaning back in his own seat. “Friends can make each other feel _good_. I made you feel good just now, didn’t I?” 

Did it feel good? Dick wasn’t sure. Numbly, he felt himself nodding anyway. 

“I’m glad. Make sure you keep this between us, though. I want to make you feel good again, but Bruce might be mad if he finds out. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Harry turned his attention to the corner of the room, where Bruce and Mrs. Ellison we’re exiting the study, both laughing as Bruce put his hand on the small of her back. An oddly intimate gesture. Maybe all of that, what Mr. Ellison did…

Maybe it’s just what these high society people _do_.

Bruce and Mrs. Ellison made their way back to the table. The “Brucie Smile” faded as soon as he looked at Dick. “Everything ok, chum?” 

Before Dick could find the remnants of his shaky voice, Mrs. Ellison cut in, “Poor thing is as white as a sheet. And no wonder, it must be well past his bedtime. Bruce, darling, I’m sure Harold would be happy to see the boy to bed. You’re needed down here, after all.”

Bruce looked skeptically between Dick and Mr. Ellison. Seeming to sense something amiss. “That’s alright Mrs. Ellison. I’ll have Alfred take him. The other staff can manage our party for a while. After all, I’d hate for you to miss the dessert course, Harold. Why don’t you two get a dance in while I say goodnight?” 

The pair smiled and giggled as they moved to the middle of the ballroom. Dick, however, was still and quiet. Bruce pressed a hand to the boy's cheek, and frowned in concern. “What’s going on? Are you sick? Did something happen?”

For a brief moment, Dick considered telling Bruce everything. But what if it was normal, and he made a fuss over nothing? What if Bruce got angry? What if Mrs. Ellison was kicked off the board, and all those kids she planned to feed went hungry? Too much rode on his silence, so Dick shook his head. “Sorry, Bruce. I’m just really tired.” 

“Ok,” Bruce sighed, “but you know we don’t keep secrets, right? You know you can tell me anything?” 

“I know,” Dick replied, soft and half obscured by a faked yawn. He really was beyond exhausted, but he doubted if he’d get any sleep. His heart was still hammering in his ears, and his mind was filled with confused, frightening thoughts. 

Bruce shot a look at the Ellisons, scowling as they twirled on the dance floor, before looking back to Dick. “I’m going to get Alfred so he can get you ready for bed. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Goodnight, chum.”

“Night, Bruce.”


	2. The Art of a Lie

Dick did manage some sleep, after all. Alfred had swept him upstairs and away from the gala guests at half-past midnight. Efficient as ever, the butler had him changed and tucked in before 1. With the lights out, and a heavy blanket gently pressing down on him, Dick’s worries washed away into the darkness, and he slept. 

How _long_ he slept didn’t register until he heard a soft knock at his door, and sat up to see the late-morning light streaming in around the curtains at his windows. 

“Good morning, young master,” Alfred began as he opened the door. “I trust you rested well. Brunch is ready for you in the kitchen, and Master Bruce wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience.” 

Groaning and wiping the drool from his cheek, Dick rolled out of bed. He didn’t bother changing. After all, don't pajamas and brunch go together? That was absolutely the reason he didn’t want daytime clothes right now. It had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn’t seem to shake the sensation of a large, foreign hand far too close to… _private_ things. And that tighter clothes might make that feeling _worse_.

Lost in thought, he followed Alfred down to the kitchen and sat before a mouthwatering spread. Under the butler’s watchful eye, he picked up a fork, but suddenly felt too nauseous to eat. Orange juice, it seemed, was the safer bet for now. Tentatively, he sipped from the glass, and was grateful for the distraction when Bruce came to sit as well. 

“Sleep well?” He asked over the top of a folded morning paper. 

“Yeah, not bad,” Dick replied cautiously, “I was really tired.”

“About that.” Bruce dropped the paper to the table and leaned forward. “I wanted to apologize. I kept you up a lot later than I should have. By the time I came back to the table with Margo Ellison, you looked ready to fall over. Harold was pretty worried about you, too. I don’t want you to keep things like that from me. If you’re tired, I need to know. Understood?” 

Dick nodded, eyes fixed on his plate. So _that_ was what Bruce meant last night, about keeping secrets. “Sorry,” he said in a hush. 

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Carefully, hesitating, Bruce stood and walked over to Dick’s seat, then crouched down in front of the boy. “I don’t have a whole lot of experience taking care of people your age. That’s all. I want to do it right.” Dick looked up and smiled. 

With an approving nod, Bruce squeezed Dick’s shoulder and went back to his own chair, then cleared his throat. “If you’re up to it, there’s another event this evening. Not as late as last night. A silent auction at an art gallery downtown hosted by the Ellisons. If we finish up early enough, we could head out and patrol, after. You’ve more than earned it.”

Beaming, Dick felt his appetite return. Between bites of breakfast, he nodded in agreement. “I’m totally up for it, Bruce. Only one more performance stands between me and some real fun.” 

Relaxing, Bruce returned the smile. “You got it, chum.”

—————

Bright orange had crept into the early evening sky when Dick and Bruce arrived at the gallery. Glass and white marble glistened around the entrance. Inside, Margo and Harold Ellison were greeting each guest.

“Hey kiddo! Good to see you again! You’re looking better.” Harry stepped up to Dick, shoulder to shoulder, and wrapped an arm around him. 

Dick still wasn’t sure about the older man. Then again, it was possible Harry was just a ‘touchy-feely’ person. No crime in that. Right? So instead of pulling away, like his instincts screamed at him, he leaned in, returning the gesture. After all, Dick could use some friends in this new, foreign life, and Harry was happy to oblige. 

Since Bruce was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Ellison, Dick and Harry meandered around the exhibit together in silence. The auction was mostly ancient classical art - some originals, some careful reproductions. All of it with starting bids in the tens of thousands at least. And none of it could hold the interest of a ten year old boy for long. 

“Want to see something that isn’t boring?” Harry offered, then tugged Dick’s arm before he could reply. 

“I should really tell Bruce where I’m going…” Dick tried to reason with the older man, but was only met with a conspiratorial grin and a dismissive reply. 

“We’ll only be gone a minute.” 

Harry released his hold at the farthest corner of the exhibit, and pointed to a small silver chalice encased in a glass box. 

“It’s a historic replica of the Wallace Cup. An ancient Roman piece. Check out the engravings.” Harry’s smile broadened as Dick leaned forward to inspect the relic. Detailed on each side were several men and boys engaged in a variety of sex acts. If the level of intricacy didn’t make Dick blush, Harry’s lewd expression did. “See? I told you it wasn’t boring.” 

Dick wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know. Seems like something I shouldn’t be looking at.”

“Oh come on, its _art_ ,” Harry countered. “If they can show it in museums it can’t be all that bad, right.” He pulled Dick close again, but the boy tried to turn away, suddenly uncomfortable. The resulting uncoordinated movement knocked a large vase off of a nearby pedestal. It shattered on the marble floor and Dick froze, horrified. 

Harry looked around furtively. “Good thing nobody saw that. And the party is loud enough - I doubt anyone heard it either. You could be in a _lot_ of trouble.” The man picked up the silent auction card and let out a low whistle. “$200,000? That’s a lot of money Bruce is going to have to part with because of your accident. He’ll probably be very angry. Don’t you think?” 

Trembling, Dick shrugged. He wasn’t sure _what_ to think. It certainly seemed like a lot of money. And Bruce was counting on him to help the Foundation. Before he could sink too deep into the pit of dread in his stomach, Harry squeezed his shoulder. 

“We can fix this. We just make it our secret. Walk away and pretend like someone else knocked it over. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“No. No that’s wrong. We should tell someone…” Dick tried to argue but the urge to follow Harry’s lead was getting more enticing by the minute. Someone was sure to walk by soon and see what he’d done. 

“Let’s go. I’ll keep my lips shut, and you do the same,” Harry insisted. “Trust me, keeping a secret is so much better than getting in trouble.” 

Wide-eyed and unsure, Dick nodded, and followed Harry away from what felt like the scene of a crime. But he felt the hot shame emblazoned on his face. Surely someone would see him and know what he’d done. 

The pair wormed their way back to the far side of the gallery just in time for one of the guests to let out a loud, dramatic gasp. 

“Dear Lord! Someone has destroyed the Corinthian amphora!” 

Dick tried to slow his heart rate as he stared at his shoes. Harry rubbed his back in a slow, soothing circle. If the man’s fingers dipped below Dick’s waistband occasionally, he was too distracted to notice. 

“You’re ok. We were just over here, looking at these statues. We don’t know anything about an ‘amphora’, do we?” Harry coached Dick in a low, gentle tone.

The reassurances weren’t enough to keep Dick from jumping when Bruce appeared out of the crowd. 

“There you are. Thought I’d lost you. Do you know anything about the broken piece? I was sure I saw you over there a minute ago.” 

Unconvincingly, Dick shook his head. “No. I don’t know anything about it.” He knew the lie would fail the instant he said it and his cheeks flamed scarlet with shame. 

“Why are you lying to me?” Bruce asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. When the boy returned his gaze to the floor, Bruce grabbed his elbow and pulled him away, “Excuse me, Harold. Dick and I need to have a word.” 

Behind the closed doors of the coat check, Bruce turned Dick to face him and raised the boy’s chin. “I’m going to ask you again. And I need the _truth_ this time. Did you break the vase?” 

_Keeping a secret is so much better than getting in trouble._ Harry’s admonishment from earlier bubbled to the surface of Dick’s mind, but he dismissed it. This was _Bruce_ after all. There was no hiding this from ‘the world's greatest detective’. “It was an accident. I’m sorry.”

Dropping his voice to a whisper, Bruce sighed, “I can’t trust you as a _partner_ if you’re going to lie to me. You should have told me the truth the first time I asked. I’m going to call Alfred and have him pick you up. You’ll go home, have dinner, and go straight to bed. We’ll talk about punishment in the morning. I’m _very_ disappointed in you.”

Stunned, Dick looked up at Bruce, wide-eyed, “But you said we’d go out tonight. That I’d earned it.” 

“That was _before_ you destroyed someone else’s property and hid it from me.” Frustrated, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now go wait in the lobby. I have some apologies to make on your behalf.” 

Tears welled up in Dick’s eyes as he tore open the closet door and stomped away to the glistening lobby of the gallery. He knew he was making a scene, but he didn’t care. He had told the _truth_ , and he got in trouble anyway. Maybe Harold was right - it was better to keep your mouth shut. 

Angry and ashamed, he flopped down onto a bench near an intricate fountain and pulled his knees up to his chest. He didn’t know how long it would take for Alfred to come, but he didn’t dare go back into the gallery. He didn’t want to see Bruce for a long time. 

Maybe that’s why he stiffened a bit when he heard footsteps behind him. But he wasn’t greeted with Bruce’s baritone. It was Harold Ellison instead. The man sat down next to Dick and casually threw an arm over his shoulders. 

“So you told the truth and it didn’t go so great, huh?” Harry asked. 

Dick sniffled and shook his head. “I should have listened to you. If I could’ve kept Bruce from knowing I wouldn’t be in trouble right now.” 

“That’s true,” Harry conceded. “Bruce doesn’t have as much experience with children your age as I do, though. As someone who has been a part of two generations of young people’s lives, I can tell you with authority that kids break things and keep secrets.”

The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, staring at the fountain, before the older man asked, “Did Bruce give you a cellphone yet?” 

“Yeah,” Dick replied cautiously, “but I’m only supposed to use it for emergencies.”

Harry shrugged and scribbled a phone number on the back of a business card he’d pulled from his pocket. “If you need someone to talk to who gets what it’s actually like to be a kid, text me. You can delete the messages when you’re done, so Bruce won’t know. You _need_ a friend, kiddo. I want to be that friend.” 

Slowly, Dick took the card and slipped it into his pocket just as Alfred pulled up to the curb outside. “Thanks, Mr. Ellison.”

“I thought I told you to call me Harry!” he called after Dick just before he slipped out of the doors. 

The ride back to the manor was silent. Alfred didn’t offer any additional admonishments, and didn’t even speak until they’d arrived home. 

“I’ve prepared dinner for you in the kitchen, sir.”

“I think I’ll just go straight to my room, Al,” Dick replied. “Sorry, I’m not that hungry.” 

“I’ll save it for you then, sir.” Alfred dismissed Dick with a sympathetic look. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Behind the closed door of his bedroom, Dick pulled out his phone and the card from Harry. With surprisingly steady fingers, he typed in the number and a short text, “hey. It’s Dick. Thanks for everything earlier. Hope to see you again soon.” Hesitating, his thumb hovered over the screen, considering. 

_”You need a friend, kiddo. I want to be that friend.”_

With a decisive nod, he pressed ‘send’. Then, with a sigh, deleted any trace of the message.


	3. The Snare

Dick smiled as his phone lit up again. It was well past midnight, but Harry was still texting him jokes. The most recent batch were old, filthy limericks. Even though he was amused, Dick cringed at the worst of them:

“There was a strong man of Drumrig,  
Who one day did ‘leven times frig;  
He buggered three Sailors,  
Four boys and three Tailors,  
And ended by fucking a pig”

_“That was gross,”_ Dick typed, adding a smiley face to show he was only _mostly_ joking. _“I should really get to bed now, though. Goodnight!”_

_“Get some sleep, kiddo. Don’t forget to clear your messages. See you soon, I hope,”_ Harry replied. 

Without hesitation, Dick did as he was told. He couldn’t begin to imagine how much trouble he’d be in if Bruce saw messages like _that_. He’d just finished deleting the string of texts when his bedroom door swung open. 

Bruce scowled into the darkness where Dick’s face was still illuminated by the blue light of his phone’s screen. 

“You are _supposed_ to be asleep,” Bruce admonished. “I came in here because I thought I’d been too harsh with you. Thought maybe if you’d rested enough we could still go on patrol. But I see that wasn’t the case. Why do you have your phone?” 

Terrified that Bruce might actually be able to _hear_ his heart hammering in his chest, Dick crossed his arms. “I was just… texting a friend. I’m sorry.”

“Give it to me. Clearly you’re less responsible than I thought, if you can’t even follow the simple rule of keeping this phone for emergencies only.” Bruce snatched the phone out of the boy's hands and examined it. “There _aren’t_ any messages on here. What were you _really_ doing?”

“I told you the truth!” Dick was furious, and he balled his fists up in the sheets beneath him. “I told you the truth and you _still_ don’t believe me!” 

“I don’t know what this new attitude is, Dick,” Bruce shot back, “but I don’t like it. It ends. Or it will be a very, _very_ long time before Robin is seen with Batman again. Go to sleep. Now.” 

Dick rolled over, facing away from Bruce, already hating the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. When the door slammed shut, he was glad to be alone.

—————

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. Dick cried most of the night, and felt relief when the first bits of sunlight peeked into his room. He really wanted to talk to Harry. Tell him at least _some_ of what happened. Actually have a _friendly_ ear. But that was impossible, now. Instead, he sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched before sneaking down to the kitchen for an early breakfast.

He was a few paces away when he heard voices. Bruce and Alfred discussing something in hushed tones. He flattened himself against the wall and listened intently. 

“He is just a boy, Master Bruce. I can’t begin to recall how many lies you told growing up…”

“It’s more than just the lying,” Bruce interrupted. “Something feels _wrong_. I can’t put my finger on it. He won’t talk to me.”

“Perhaps,” the butler mused, “its because you've been so _busy_. He’s ten years old, Master Bruce. A boy his age needs to play, get dirty, have fun. And you’ve been at fundraising events most of the week.” 

Bruce sighed, “Maybe. Today is the last function for the foundation, at least for a while. But then I’ll be in London for the weekend...” 

“Perhaps you should attempt to mend things with the young master before your departure, yes?” 

The clanking of dishes and silverware heralded the end of Bruce's meal and their conversation. Dick stood in the shadows and counted to one hundred. The last thing he wanted to do was give anyone the impression he had been spying. When the countdown was complete, he cautiously pushed open the door and stepped onto the cool stone floor in the kitchen. Bruce looked up from his paper and gave Dick an awkward half-smile. Alfred, however, was as pleased to see the boy as ever. 

“You’re up early, Master Richard,” he remarked, then gave the pajama clad boy an appraising look, “Perhaps today is a cereal day?” 

‘Cereal days’ were special. The boxes of sugary, marshmallow-y goodness sat on a high shelf, reserved for times when Dick had had a particularly bad night. Sometimes it was a nasty patrol, or nightmares that wouldn’t end. His red, puffy eyes must’ve given him away this morning, but he was too tired to care much. “Cereal sounds great, Al. Thanks.”

Nodding, Alfred cast a coaxing look at Bruce before he turned and began the simple preparation. Bruce cleared his throat. 

“I, um,” he began, shifting uncomfortably, “I realize I haven’t been the most available person, recently. And maybe that’s part of why we’ve been… out of step with each other. We have a luncheon today, and then we can be done with the society events for a while. After I get back from London…”

“You’re leaving?” Dick didn’t think this morning could get any worse, but it did. If Bruce was out of town, it meant no patrol, no using the gym equipment… no _fun_ at all. 

“Just for the weekend. But after that we can get back to our usual program, ok?”

“Ok.” Dick sighed dejectedly and spooned milk around his bowl. 

“Hey,” Bruce attempted to be reassuring, “only one more event for the foundation and you’re home free.”

—————

The minute they stepped into the ultra-modern restaurant, Dick started scanning the crowd for Harry. He had hoped to talk to him right away, but the Ellisons were at the other side of the room, entertaining a few of the seated guests. Of course it made sense - all of the events these past few days have been for Mrs. Ellison’s project. Still, Dick is more than a little disappointed when he and Bruce make their way to their table unnoticed.

Before long, Bruce was tied up in a conversation with some vapid woman who smiled too much and laughed too often. Dick sat silently, bouncing his leg and trying to not cause trouble. But it was all so _boring_. Golf, yachts, expensive travel. These people were so shallow it bordered on _painful_. When the conversation turned to _him_ , he almost didn’t notice. 

“You know you’ve done such a wonderful thing, Bruce. Taking in a boy like _that_. And at such great personal expense. I can’t imagine how many tutors he needs just to compensate for his… unconventional upbringing.” 

Bruce bristled, then shook his head. “If anything, Dick needs tutors because he is so advanced.” The words sounded sugary but the expression paired with them was anything but. “He already speaks 6 languages fluently, and has quite the aptitude for math.” 

“Well, yes of course such an...international background could come with some advantages.” The woman had still not even bothered to acknowledge that Dick was sitting _right there_. Instead, she continued “You have to admit, however, remedial education would help soften the edges a bit. Make his behavior more… acceptable for polite company.” 

Palpably furious now, Bruce turned to Dick, and through clenched teeth said, “why don’t you go take a break, chum, and wash up before the meal arrives. Ms. Abernathy and I have some things to discuss.” 

Grateful for any reason to get away from such an insulting conversation, Dick nodded and hopped from his seat. “Excuse me,” he said with a small bow of his head as he turned away, feeling nothing but relief. 

The shame didn’t hit until he’d made it to the bathroom and eyed his reflection warily in the mirror. Was he really so obviously _different_? Behind him, he saw the door open, and he was greeted by the smiling face of Mr. Harold Ellison. 

“Veronica Abernathy is a real cunt, isn't she?” Harry stepped next to Dick and patted his back sympathetically. “I heard what she was saying about you. Bruce smoothed things over with her. They’re best friends again. Can’t say I’d have let that slide, if someone said that about _my_ kid…” 

He trailed off, then shrugged. Dick felt deflated. Of course, Bruce would defend him… unless it interfered with _business_. Then he was disposable. 

“Cheer up, kiddo,” Harry said as he jostled Dick’s shoulders, “I found some better jokes to send to you tonight. If you thought that _last_ one was gross…”

“You can’t send me messages anymore,” Dick interrupted quietly, “Bruce took my phone.” 

Instantly, terrifyingly, Harry’s plastered smile _melted_ , leaving a violent-looking scowl in its place. He dug his fingers into Dick’s arms and harshly whispered, “Did you tell him about the messages? Did he see them?”

“No, no, no…” Dick babbled, frightened by the man he assumed was his friend, “I deleted them, I promise. He just saw me using the phone up late and he took it. That’s all.” 

With a deep sigh, Harry’s smile settled back in to place. “Good. I knew I could count on you. Strictly speaking, some of those jokes are made for adults, but you’re more than mature enough to handle them. Bruce seems like a man with a temper, though, and I was worried you were going to get in trouble.” Harry stepped behind Dick and pulled him into a hug, holding himself very, very close. Dick did his best to arch away from the unsettling, hard lump pressing into his lower back. It didn’t matter. Harry rubbed against him anyway, and moaned in the boy’s ear, “you’re making me feel _very_ good, such a beautiful boy. Thank you.”

Harry finally released him, then patted and kneaded his backside. “We should get back out there. Wouldn’t want a growing boy like you to miss lunch.” 

Trembling, Dick nodded. To say he was confused would be an understatement. Harold was his friend. Wasn’t he? Suddenly, Dick wasn’t as sure anymore. 

Together they walked back into the dining area, and Harold deposited Dick back in his seat. Bruce narrowed his eyes in suspicion, looking between the pair.

“He’s alright, now,” Harold easily lied, “he was just pretty upset by what was said about him earlier. I gave him a good pep talk for you, Wayne. He’s a good kid.”

Still unsure, Bruce nodded. “Thank you, Harold. I appreciate that. Enjoy your lunch.”

“I know I will. Margo is an expert at picking a menu.” With a final wave he said, “see you soon, kiddo,” then turned and sauntered back to his table. 

The rest of the luncheon continued without further incident, though Veronica Abernathy was conspicuously absent. Dick found himself just staring at his meal more often than not, and he avoided Bruce’s concerned glances as much as possible 

When it was time to go, Harold made his way back to Dick’s table again. “Wayne!” He exclaimed with a smile. “Margo tells me you’re out of town this weekend. London, was it?” 

Bruce nodded, “Wayne Enterprises is thinking of acquiring a start-up company focusing on clean energy. I wanted to see their operation myself before any major decisions were made. Why do you ask?” 

“Well,” Harold’s smile took a predatory edge as he continued, “Margo had a fabulous idea. Instead of leaving your boy cooped up in that big, spooky manor of yours, let him come to our lake house for a few days. It’s an hour outside of the city, absolutely gorgeous. I’ll invite the grandkids too, we’ll make an event out of it. Active boys like Dick _need_ a chaotic outlet. Too much structure and they push back against it. It’s in their nature.”

Bruce sighed. “Alfred said almost the exact same thing this morning,” he conceded. “What do you think Dick? It’s your call. Did you want to spend the weekend at the Ellison’s lake house? It would actually help me out - I could use Alfred’s help while I’m away.”

Swallowing down hard on the unexplained feeling of dread creeping up his throat, Dick smiled. “Sure thing, Bruce. Sounds great.”

“It’s settled then,” Harry said as he clapped Dick on the shoulder. “I’ll pick you up Friday morning. We’re going to have a great time.”


	4. The Lake House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, more than others, is potentially triggering for sexual assault and child abuse. Stay safe.

Friday morning came extraordinarily fast. The sun had only just crested over the horizon, but the manor was already buzzing with the travel preparations. Dick had packed a small duffle for himself, which Alfred had promptly examined and repacked to ensure everything that could possibly be needed was there. 

Bruce spent the majority of the morning on the phone. Businesses were already open in London, and he was finalizing plans with his overseas executive assistant. Distractedly, he waved at Dick while the boy ate breakfast, then he once again engrossed himself in his work. 

Genuine excitement had overtaken Dick’s initial concerns about his own mini vacation. Alfred informed him that the Ellisons had eleven grandchildren, ranging in age from 6 to 17. Two of them, twin boys, were exactly Dick’s age. It had been a very, very long time since he’d had a chance to just relax and _play_. Any weirdness with Harry dissolved in the anticipation. 

Besides, how off-color could he _really_ be with all of those other people running around? 

Dick was just starting to get antsy with waiting when Alfred returned to the kitchen. “Master Richard? Mister Ellison has arrived and is ready for your departure.” 

“Yes!” Dick exclaimed. “Bye Bruce! Have a great trip!” 

Briefly, Bruce glanced up from a portfolio in front of him and waved. “Yeah. Uh-huh.” Without another word, he returned to his work. 

Dejected, part of Dick wanted to sulk all the way to the front door of the manor. After all, Bruce didn’t even bother to say _goodbye_. Not really. But he was determined to make this a great, if rare, _real_ vacation. So he waved to Alfred and went outside. 

Harold was waiting in his car - a gorgeous convertible with the top already down. “Hop in and buckle up!” Harry hollered over a very unnecessary rev of the engine. 

Beaming, Dick leapt over the door and into the passenger’s seat. A brief squeeze of the boy’s thigh and Harry smiled broadly, then shifted the car into gear and tore away from the manor. 

With the music blaring, the wind whipping, and Wayne Manor well out of sight, Dick relaxed down into his seat. By the time the drive was nearly over, he was _almost_ used to the ever-present weight of Harry’s palm on his leg. _Almost_ ok with the gentle rubs that took the man’s large fingers under the hem of Dick’s shorts and onto the soft skin beneath the cloth. His happiness was all too willing to drown any suspicious or uncomfortable thoughts. After all, it was _Harry_. That’s just how he _was_. Right?

They pulled into the view of the lake house by late morning, and the day had already begun to get warm. Dick jumped out of the car with curiosity. He had expected laughing, shouting, playing. He had _expected_ children and their parents. But the only sounds he could make out were distant birds, and the rhythmic “tick tick tick” of the convertible’s cooling engine. 

“Where is everyone?” Dick asked, jerking when Harry slung both arms over his shoulders from behind and buried his nose in the boy’s hair. 

“Grandkids couldn’t make it on such short notice, unfortunately. And Margo had some things to wrap up for the Foundation. But there is plenty that two bachelors can get into around here.” Harry took a step back and smiled, then tugged his own shirt off. “Like swimming! Race you to the lake?” 

“But,” Dick protested, “my trunks are in my bag! I need to change first!” 

“Haven’t you ever heard of skinny dipping, kiddo?” Harry called back as he raced to the water’s edge, tugging the rest of his clothes off as he ran. 

Dick followed, fully dressed, and watched from the lakeshore as the naked man splashed into the water. “I thought you wanted to have fun! If you’re too chicken, I can call Bruce, send you home. Might still be able to catch him at the airport. Though, if he misses his flight because of you I can’t imagine he’d be happy.” 

The thought of interrupting Bruce’s important business made Dick’s stomach flip. Especially with how mad he had been recently. Dick didn’t want to chance another incident. Bruce had threatened him with losing patrol privileges. He took a furtive glance over his shoulder, then slowly stripped off his clothes and placed them in a neat pile in the grass. 

“There you go!” Harry called appreciatively as Dick slid into the cool water, gasping a little as he sunk in to his chest. “It’s a little chilly, but once we start moving around you’ll be fine.” 

The pair spent the rest of the morning in the lake, splashing and diving. But the water really _was_ cold, and Dick could only pretend it _wasn’t_ for so long. He was visibly shivering when Harry swam over to him and wrapped his arms around him. 

“You look like an icicle, kiddo. Let me help.” Harry tugged Dick close to his chest and rubbed the boys back, lower and lower, until his hands were resting on Dick’s bottom, where he squeezed and pulled until a wince and a protesting whine made him stop. 

Dick pushed away.

“Well, if you won't let me warm you up out here,” Harry began with a smile, “we should go inside and dry off. I’m sure you’re hungry by now, anyway.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply. The older man swam to the edge of the lake and headed toward the house, grabbing the pile of Dick’s clothes on the way. 

Dick stood, waist deep in the water, and called after Harry, “can you leave my shorts, please?”

But Harry didn’t hear him. Or ignored him. Dick wasn’t sure why that made his stomach feel so leaden. With little choice, Dick clambered up onto the shore and jogged after Harry, then slipped through the door behind him. 

The lake house was warm and spacious, with beautiful wood ceilings and cozy looking furniture. Harry slung an arm over Dick’s bare shoulders. “Welcome to my happy place kiddo. Maybe it can be yours, too? Let’s go wash the lake off ourselves, then I’ll make lunch.” 

He steered Dick into a large bathroom nearby, and turned the water on in the shower. Then he stepped under the stream, and motioned for Dick to join him. 

Frozen, Dick shook his head. This was… this was a definite line. Wasn’t it? Swimming naked was one thing, but showering seemed… private. “I’ll just wait my turn outside.” 

“Come on, don’t be shy. It’s just like hosing off in a locker room. The quicker we get this done, the quicker we get to some of my famous sandwiches.” 

Slowly, hesitating with every unsure step, Dick made his way over to the open shower stall. Once he was close enough, Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him in under the hot spray. The shower was large, but Harry held the boy close, rubbing the warm water over his body and cleaning off any mud that had managed to stick to his skin. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, Harry shut the tap off. 

“There we go. Clean and warm. There are some fluffy robes folded in that linen closet, if you want. Don’t put your old clothes back on, they’re dirty,” the man instructed. 

Hastily, loathing the sensation of being so _exposed_ , Dick opened the closet and pulled out the first robe he could put his hands on. It was very large on his small frame, but he didn’t care. He relaxed into the thick fabric and at last felt at ease behind the firmly tightened and tied terry cloth belt. 

Harry stood close and reached over Dick to the shelf above him, pulled down his own robe, then lazily draped it over his shoulders. He didn’t bother to close it. Instead, he beckoned Dick back into the kitchen and onto a barstool at the counter. Dick kept his eyes down as Harry made sandwiches - this all felt so... wrong. The open robe, the shower, the swimming… the touches that didn’t feel so friendly at all. But what could he do? Bruce was probably out of the country by now. Alfred too. And if Harry told Bruce he had been trouble…

Dick didn’t want to think too hard about the consequences. Because if Bruce took Robin from him…

No. That wasn’t going to happen. Because he was going to be good. Follow the rules. Play along. 

Besides, it wasn’t _all_ bad. The ride over had been amazing, with the sun on his skin and the wind in his hair. Swimming had been fun, too, after the initial shock. Some people, like Harry, were just eccentric.

Yeah. That was it. 

Lunch was mercifully _normal_ , though Dick stayed mostly silent as Harry chatted about his grandchildren, arcade games, and school. It was refreshing to listen to someone talking about things that interested a boy his age. Finally. 

In fact, the rest of the _day_ was fun, and without any discomfort. Harry and Dick got dressed, in separate rooms, and played video games for part of the afternoon. Dinner was simple, but delicious, and by the time bedtime came, Dick was more than ready to crash. 

Harry had a different idea. 

“We should watch a movie! We can’t stay up late tomorrow night - I have to have you back early Sunday morning. Tonight’s the only night we have to go crazy. I have any candy you can think of, and a 70 inch flatscreen in my bedroom. We can prop up in bed and eat popcorn ‘till we pass out. What do you say?” 

On the surface, that sounded amazing. Exactly like something Bruce would _never_ do. Totally juvenile, irresponsible, and _fun_. But with Harry? The idea was equally enticing and inexplicably frightening. 

“I don’t know,” Dick demurred, “I’m pretty tired…”

“Come on!” Harry cajoled, “It’s not like _Bruce_ will ever have time to do something like this with you. Between Wayne Enterprises, his foundations, and his _avid_ social life, I can’t imagine he has a lot of time for you. You need fun, and _attention_. It’s written all over your face. It’s part of why I wanted to be your friend in the first place. You _need_ someone like me.” 

Dick’s chest _ached_. Bruce was busy, sure. But he didn’t think the hollowness he felt in his guardian’s absence was so _obvious_. Before he could stop them, tears started welling up in his eyes, then spilling down his cheeks. The half-choked sob that came next was as unwelcome as it was embarrassing. 

“Shhh, shhh,” Harry soothed, bringing the boy close into a tight, warm hug, “I know. I know. But hey - I’m here, I think you’re amazing, and I love spending time with you. I really do. Now, how about that movie? I honestly think it’s impossible to watch The Princess Bride and be sad at the same time.” 

Sniffling and nodding, Dick smiled. “It’s one of my favorites.” 

“It’s fate, then. Come on. Bring those sodas and let’s head upstairs.” Harry grabbed handfuls of candy packages and a bag of pre-popped corn. 

Feeling a little lighter, Dick followed the man up the wooden staircase and into the open master bedroom. As promised, a huge TV hung on the wall across from a pillow-covered bed. Without comment, Harry stripped off his clothes and climbed under the covers. “You too,” he prompted. 

When Dick looked away, stalling, Harry chuckled, “I think the ship has sailed on your shyness by now, kiddo. Besides, you haven’t lived till you’ve felt 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton on your bare ass.” 

Still, Dick stood in the room. Rooted to the spot. 

_This is wrong. This is so wrong._

He shook his head to try and clear the jangling, warning thoughts in his head. It wasn’t wrong - it _couldn't_ be. Harry had just said that Dick was _awesome_. That he enjoyed spending time with him. 

Harry, he concluded decisively, was his friend. 

So he shrugged and did as he was told, pulling off his clothes and sliding into the sheets next to the older man. Harry tugged Dick over to him, snuggled against his side, and started the movie. 

At the halfway mark, Dick was absolutely certain Harry had been right. This _was_ fun, and exactly what he needed. With the popcorn gone and the candy mostly spent, Dick dozed on Harry’s chest, smiling and content. 

The end credits were rolling when he opened his eyes again. Disoriented, and unsure of what had woken him. Harry was spooned up behind him, and the older man stroked his hair. “Shh, you’re alright kiddo.”

But he couldn’t relax. No, something was very, _very_ wrong. Something hard was sliding between his closed legs, slick and squelching against the skin. Harry pressed down on Dick’s hip with his hand, keeping the boy’s thighs locked tightly together as he rocked back and forth . 

“No. Stop. This isn’t right.” Dick tried to move away, but Harry held fast, and snaked his hand around to stroke Dick, fondling and skimming his fingers over areas that were meant to be _private_. 

“It feels so good though. Doesn’t it? You’re doing so well. You’re so beautiful,” Harry moaned in his ear breathlessly. 

_No!_ Dick wanted to scream. _No, it doesn’t. Stop!_

But he didn’t. And he felt sick because he knew it would be a lie. It _did_ feel good. _Too_ good. And so _violating_. The terrifying swirl of conflicting emotions brought him to tears, and he sobbed as Harry stiffened behind him, coating the expensive sheets, and his thighs, with warm, sticky fluid. 

“Hush, now. You did so well. I’ve got you. You’re safe. We made each other feel good, just like I promised. This is _our_ secret, now. Just close your eyes again.” Harry hugged him close. Warm, and sincere feeling. As if the man, his _friend_ , hadn’t just…

Hadn’t just…

Dick buried his head in a pillow and cried, betrayal and confusion taking him back to an uneasy and broken sleep.


	5. The Vista

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for abuse and an unreliable narrator

Dread woke him up. Thick and heavy in his chest, like his ribs were made of iron and there were magnets in his mattress. 

Not _his_ mattress, Dick remembered. Harry’s. 

Once the memories settled in, like remnants of a bad dream, the dread made sense. Harry had done…

What, exactly?

They hadn’t had sex. Dick was aware of what sex was, in broad terms. Last night was _not_ that. Harry had just… rubbed against him. And touched him, and…

Dick grimaced as he rolled out of the bed, finding himself covered in a half-dried, sticky mess. 

Gingerly, he made his way to the master bathroom, discovering it as empty as the bedroom. He felt guilty for the relief that came from being alone. 

After all, he thought, as he turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm, Harry hadn’t _hurt_ him. In fact, it was the opposite. But the wrongness of it all _was_ painful. Bruce had never said anything, but his parents had always told him to never let anyone touch him where his bathing suit covered. They didn’t live long enough for him to ask why. 

Dick stepped into the shower and started scrubbing at his legs hard, eliminating any trace of Harold Ellison that still clung to his skin. 

Harry had been touching him there, in that nebulous ‘bathing suit area’, over and under his clothes, for nearly a week. Nothing bad had happened. Maybe it was just one of those things parents say, like “your face will stick that way”, or “don’t swim after you eat.” If it was _really_ important, Bruce would surely have mentioned it. 

Dick stood under the hot spray longer than was strictly necessary. Confused and overwhelmed. When the water began to cool, he shut off the stream, dried off, and slipped the clothes he wore last night back on. Carefully, he peeked into the hallway, then headed down stairs. 

Why was he so worried? Bruce would never have left him with just _anybody_. Didn’t he say, once, that his _parents_ , Thomas and Martha, had known the Ellisons? And Harry had been _nice_ to him. Treated him like a friend from the start. Not like those other society jerks. 

Harry was good and safe. 

Wasn’t he?

It was hard to argue with that logic when he came to the kitchen to find Harry making scrambled eggs. The man looked up at Dick, smiling broadly, and began to serve up the meal. 

“Perfect timing, kiddo!” Harry took a seat next to Dick at the counter. “I was getting worried. Thought you’d sleep the whole day away!” 

Idly, Dick stabbed the eggs with his fork. “I don’t,” he began, trembling, “I don’t think I liked what you did last night.” 

Harry cocked his head quizzically, “you mean what _we_ did? You _seemed_ to like it. Besides, we’re friends. Special friends. I love you, and you love me. That’s just how we show it.” 

Sighing at Dick’s silence, Harry continued, “it’s ok to be a little confused. Love like this can feel very… big. And keeping something that big and special a secret can feel strange. But this is just for us. Just you and me. Because only I know how sad you are, how lonely you are. And only I can make it better.” 

When Dick simply shrugged, Harry clapped him on the shoulder and said, “finish up. I have a present for you, and then I thought we’d go hiking. Great trails up in the woods behind the house.”

Three bites. That’s all Dick could manage before he felt too sick to continue. He pushed the plate away and joined Harry by the couch. The man was holding an intricately wrapped box, a little bigger than his palm. With some of his cheer slowly returning, Dick tore into the silvery paper. 

“It’s the latest iPhone, kiddo,” Harold announced as soon as Dick finished pulling away the wrapper. “I know you lost privileges with your old one because of me. We can text as much as you want on this one. And since it’s not on Bruce’s plan, you don’t have to trash the messages. You can keep my jokes as long as you need them. But you’ve got to _promise_ to keep it hidden.”

Dick smiled cautiously. “Thank you, Harry. This is awesome. And I promise.”

“Well, it’s not much. I’d give you the _moon_ if I could, you know. I love you. And hey,” Harry tilted Dick’s chin up, slowly stroking his thumb along the boy’s cheek, “I promise the next time we _share_ our love, I’ll make sure you’re awake. I startled you, I imagine, and I’m sorry. Sound good, kiddo?”

There was a small feeling of relief that came with Harry’s apology. Enough to silence the voices in his mind that screamed, ‘danger’. Because ‘love’ is good. It’s _always_ good. And Bruce, well… 

Bruce had never once said, “I love you.” Until he met Harry, Dick didn’t realize how badly he needed to hear those words again. If some weirdness, some discomfort was what it took to be loved…

He guessed that could be ok. 

“Yeah,” Dick replied, “Sounds good. Thanks, Harry.” 

The man’s face split open into a wide, toothy grin, that reminded Dick a little too much of a wolf. After a tight hug, Harry kissed him on the forehead and said, “hike time. Let’s get moving, we’re wasting daylight.” 

The trails behind the lake house _were_ beautiful. The evergreens towered over them, blotting out most of the clear, blue sky, and the fallen pine needles covered the path, making their footfalls nearly silent. With Harry in the lead, the pair walked until noon, up steep hills and over sharp rocks. They stopped at a vista point overlooking the lake. Even with Harry’s out-of-breath huffing too close to his ear, Dick thought the view was breathtaking. 

“Have to hand it to you, kiddo,” Harry puffed, “you’re one of the best climbers I’ve ever seen.” The man squinted against the sweat dripping down into his eyes and took a seat next to Dick on the ledge of the cliff. 

Dick shrugged, “you learn a lot in the circus, I guess.” It was the go-to lie Bruce had told him to use if someone noticed he was unusually good at something. And it never failed to work. 

Harry nodded and said, “I suppose so,” then wrapped his arm around Dick’s shoulder. 

The lying never felt right. Even if it was to protect Bruce, protect _Batman_. Dick hated how _good_ he’d gotten at keeping a secret. Maybe that’s why everything with Harry felt so _wrong_. For something _important_ , lying felt like a necessary evil. But for something personal, something _selfish_...

“I think I should tell Bruce about us… loving each other,” Dick whispered. 

Harry shifted, and the tension in his body spread to his fingertips where he dug his nails into Dick’s arm. “I thought you understood this was just for _us_. A very special secret. Bruce wouldn’t get it. Bruce doesn’t _care_ about you. When is the last time he said he loved you? Or hugged you? Or spent any time with you at all, doing something _you_ wanted to do?”

Harry tightened his grip, hard enough to bruise, and continued, “ _I_ love you. I might be the only person who does.”

Nodding more out of fear than agreement, Dick breathed a sigh of relief when Harry let go of his arm. The muscles throbbed, and each fingerprint stayed scarlet on his skin. “I understand. I’m sorry Harry. I won’t tell.” 

“I knew you’d get it, kiddo,” Harry said with a smile, as if the incident had never happened, “I love you.” 

This time, the words didn’t carry the warm satisfaction they did before. If Harry loved him, why did he _hurt_ him? “I think I want to head back,” Dick said quietly. 

“Sure thing. Bet you’re hungry. We should have packed a picnic.” Harry’s reply was so… normal. Dick’s churning anxiety felt out of place, by comparison. Still, there was a little too much truth to the man’s assessment of his relationship with Bruce. And that hurt more than the bruises darkening on his arm. 

The return trip was faster, and the lake house was in view in less than an hour. “Why don’t you shower up, kiddo? Get that sweat and sap off of you while I make lunch,” Harry suggested as they approached the door. 

Dick had no reason to argue, so he nodded and gave Harry an uneasy smile before heading to the bathroom. Under the cool water, he closed his eyes and tried to unravel this… _thing_ with Harry. But it was all so muddled. Harry loved him, or did he? And if he did, was the feeling mutual? And if it was, should it be a secret? And if it should, why? There were no easy answers. At least, none he could come to in the time it took to grab a quick shower. 

When he stepped out, Harry was already there, cell phone in hand and a smile on his face. 

“Hope you don’t mind, I took a few pictures. You’re just so beautiful like that, lost in thought. I couldn’t let an artistic moment pass.” 

When Dick just stood there, stunned and dripping, Harry handed him a towel. “I’ll send some of them to your new phone, so you can see. They really are gorgeous. Dry off. Lunch is ready.” 

Absently, Dick scrubbed the towel over his damp skin. He tried to put a name to what he was feeling, and couldn’t. Why would Harry take _pictures_ of him? While he was naked. Especially without asking. It was…

_Wrong._

Dick felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. All of this. _All_ of it was _wrong_. 

Shaking, he pulled his clothes on and went out of the bathroom, past the kitchen, and over to the table where his phone still sat. He did his best to steady his fingers and calm his mind enough to punch in Bruce’s cell number. 

He wasn’t fast enough. Harry pulled the phone from his hands and scowled. “What are you doing?” 

“I just wanted to check in with Bruce,” Dick lied. “Usually when he’s out of town he calls once a day and I haven’t heard from him.”

“You were going to tell him. About _us_. Weren’t you?” Harry’s voice was quiet, and eerily calm. When Dick didn’t answer, he sneered, and his volume steadily increased. “He won’t believe you, you know. You’ve already proven yourself to be a liar. The broken vase, the after-hours cellphone use… I’m sure you’ve told more lies than you can count just this past week. You don’t seriously think Bruce _trusts_ you, right now. Do you? Besides - I’ve been a friend of his family for decades. And you’re just a charity case he took in on a whim. When it comes down to it, who do you think he’ll believe? Me, or you?”

It was too much, too confusing. Bruce’s voice bubbled into his memory and he started to cry, 

_“I can’t trust you as a partner if you’re going to lie to me.”_

_“I don’t know what this new attitude is, Dick, but I don’t like it. It ends. Or it will be a very, very long time before Robin is seen with Batman again.”_

Harry was...right? 

“Oh, kiddo,” Harry softened, and pulled the shaking, sobbing boy into his arms. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess, haven’t you. _That’s_ why we should keep what you’ve done a secret. Because if you tell Bruce, he’ll understandably think you’re lying. And if he thinks you’re lying _again_ , I can only imagine how severe the consequences would be. Now just sit down, catch your breath, and I’ll get you a glass of water, ok?”

Dick gulped for air between sobs as he sat on the couch. Harry was _right_. Bruce didn’t trust him. Bruce wouldn’t _believe_ him and Harry…

Harry was just trying to help. Trying to take care of damage control. 

Right? 

“There we go,” Harry cooed as he placed a cold, perspiring glass in Dick’s trembling hands. “I know it seems harsh, but I told you all of that because I _love_ you, and I don’t want to see you get in any trouble. I’m sure Bruce wouldn’t hesitate to put you back into the foster care system if you caused too many issues.”

Dick’s heart suddenly felt ice cold. “I wasn’t in foster care,” he said in a terrified whisper, “after my parents were killed they sent me to juvie. It was only supposed to be a night but… they forgot about me. Bruce tracked me down, got me out… I can’t go back. I can’t _ever_ go back.” 

Harry sighed with a satisfied smile and sat down next to the boy, then tucked him under his arm. “I don’t want you to go back, either. That’s no place for a boy like you. But it’s why we don’t want to upset Bruce. You can’t cause trouble or you _will_ end up there again. And that would break my heart.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dick said as soon as his breath had evened enough, “I didn’t think…”

“You’re growing up, you’re bound to make mistakes,” Harry reassured him. “The important thing is how you _fix_ those mistakes, and make it up to the people who love you.” 

Sniffling, Dick asked, “how do I fix it, then? How do I make it up to you?” 

“You’re such a good boy,” Harry replied. “I’ll show you a way to make me feel very good, and after that we can forget that any of this unpleasantness ever happened, ok?” 

Cautiously, Dick nodded, and Harry pulled him gently to the floor, between his knees. “Don’t be scared,” he said, his voice dripping with manufactured kindness, “I’ll walk you through every step. And I’ll make sure to send you some pictures, so you remember how to do it next time.” 

Dick resisted the urge to pull away as Harry lowered his zipper and placed a hand on his head. But whatever it took to keep Bruce from knowing, to keep him from losing Robin, or going back to the detention center, he would do it. 

He didn’t have a choice.


	6. The Loneliness

“You did so well. That was perfect.” Harry wiped Dick’s lips with his palm, then pulled the trembling boy into his lap. “Why don’t we take it easy the rest of the day? You can take a nap, play video games? We have to call it an early night tonight anyway. Gotta have you home by eight tomorrow morning.”

Dick nodded absently. “A nap sounds good. Thanks.” His voice was raspy and hollow. What Harry did… what they _both_ did…

It didn’t feel like love. 

Still, as Dick climbed the stairs to the bedroom, Harry called behind him, “I love you, kiddo!” 

So maybe even if it didn’t _feel_ like love, it was. 

He hated feeling this unsure. On the trapeze, confidence could be the difference between a successful catch or…

No. That was a bad metaphor. 

But Robin was confident, too. Never wavering, always adapting. So why did all of this feel so much like drowning? He climbed into bed, avoiding the crusty spot on the unchanged sheets, and curled himself into a tight ball. Was love supposed to make him feel this sick? It didn’t feel like this with papa and daj. Even with everyone else in his unusual and extended circus family, love was never this confusing. 

And Bruce? He respected Bruce, was impressed and intimidated by Bruce. But did he _love_ Bruce?

No. 

He dragged a pillow to his chest and muffled his sobs in the softness. His doubts filled his lungs with guilt until he felt like he was choking on it. Harry was…

Harry was…

His _friend_. The first person who said “I love you” since his parents died. One of the few people in this new, terrifying life that treated him with any degree of fondness. A secret keeper. Someone who could stop Bruce from sending him back, like a defective package. 

By the time he stopped crying, the shadows outside the window had grown long, and brilliant colors painted the sky over the lake. There was a tentative knock at the door, and Harry poked his head in.

“Hey, kiddo. I ordered some pizza. You should really come down and eat.” With a chuckle, he added, “if Bruce thinks I’m starving you he won’t let you come back. You’d like to come back, wouldn’t you?”

Dick pulled his head away from the pillow and took a big gulp of air. “Um… sure. I think I’d like that.”

The words felt like razor blades on his tongue, but they were _true_. In spite of everything - the touches, the movie, the pictures, the…

He really _had_ enjoyed himself. Not just the activity and the adventure. But the sense that someone gave a damn about _him_ , not just what he could do, or how good a partner he could be. 

“I’m glad. I’d like that, too.” Harry strode over to Dick and knelt down beside the bed. “I hate to see you so sad, kiddo.” Gently, he wiped some tears off the boy's cheek. “I think I just… got swept up in how much I love you, that’s all. Took it too fast and confused you. But we’re friends. The most special kind there is. And I won’t let you feel lonely or forgotten ever again. I promise.” 

Dick attempted to smile, then nodded and sat on the edge of the mattress. Was that all this was? A simple issue of timing and communication? He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he _wanted_ to. He wanted to be friends with someone who made promises like that. “Okay. I think… I think that makes sense. And I _am_ a little hungry.”

Harry held out a hand and pulled the boy to his feet. “Fantastic,” he said with a smile, “because I may have gone overboard. Think we can eat 4 large pizzas by ourselves?” 

Dick grinned and pushed the last of his tears out of his eyes. “We can try!” 

They made it through two and a half boxes before they gave up, and by the end, Dick was laughing as Harry tried to shove one more bite in his mouth. 

“No, no, I’ll puke!” Dick exclaimed. 

“Alright,” Harry relented, “but you’ve got a little sauce right here…” 

The man leaned in and licked the corner of Dick’s mouth, then held the boys chin still as he pushed his tongue past his lips. When Dick didn’t move away, Harry continued, kissing him in earnest. Gently, he finished, then planted small pecks on the boy’s face. “So beautiful. So special,” he murmured. 

Dick smiled a little. All in all, that wasn’t the _worst_ , and his heart fluttered at the praise that followed the kiss. He simply wanted to be _good_ and _loved_. Harry was offering that and more. Dick soaked in the affection he needed so badly. He reached out and squeezed the older man tightly, hoping a normal hug would wash away any residual _wrongness_ he felt. 

It didn’t work, but Dick could pretend. 

With a heavy sigh, Harry cast a withering glance at the clock. “We’d better get to bed. Go put some pajamas on and we’ll hit the hay.”

—————

“Hey, kiddo. Rise and shine.”

Harry’s smiling face filled Dick’s bleary vision, and before he could protest, he was hauled up into the man’s arms and slung over his shoulder. 

“Come on, up and at ‘em!” 

Harry playfully dug his fingers into Dick’s side, and the boy dissolved into peals of laughter. 

“Stop, Harry! Stop, I mean it!”

“Nope,” Harry chuckled, “not going to stop until I’m sure you’re going to stay smiling the whole day!” 

Genuinely out of breath, and feeling a little nauseous, Dick tried to wriggle away, batting at Harry’s hands. “I’m serious. I can’t breathe!” 

“Alright, alright.” Harry put him down, looking slightly dejected, and said, “get dressed and get your stuff, we have to rock and roll.”

“Why?” Dick’s voice was _almost_ a whine. Harry’s place might be confusing, but at least it wasn’t the echoing loneliness of Wayne Manor. 

Harry shrugged. “Something about Bruce wanting to get breakfast with you? Whatever the reason, I’m not going to get on your butler’s bad side. He was pretty insistent you get home early.” 

Dick dragged his feet the whole morning.   
He wasn’t keen on leaving behind the one on one attention. By the time the two made it back into Harry’s convertible, the boy was fully sulking. 

“When am I going to see you again?” He pouted. 

Harry smiled and chuckled. “Not long, I hope. Maybe I’ll invite you and Bruce to dinner with Margo and me later this week. Would you like that?”

“I guess so.” Dick shrugged, and Harry patted his knee. 

“It won’t be a stuffy, horrible thing like those charity events Bruce drags you to, I promise,” Harry reassured him. When Dick’s face brightened, he turned over the engine and they drove away. 

They arrived back at the manor at 7:58 - almost precisely when Alfred had required. The butler was waiting for them at the door, and Harry grabbed Dick’s duffle, then escorted him into the Manor. 

“I trust your respite went well?” Alfred asked. 

Dick missed the question - he was too busy poking his head into various rooms, “where’s Bruce? I thought him and me were going to get breakfast together.” 

Alfred sighed sympathetically, “It’s ‘he and I’, young sir. Master Bruce was called to the office early this morning, I’m afraid. He hopes to return by lunchtime.” 

Harry carefully put a hand on Dick’s shoulder, then cleared his throat awkwardly. “I better get going kiddo. I had a great time. You take care?” 

“Yeah…” Dick felt beyond disappointed. He looked up at Harry and attempted a smile, “I had fun, too. Thanks.” 

“Anytime.” He turned and addressed Alfred, “seriously, this kid is as good as gold. I’d be happy to look after him whenever Bruce is out of town. The two of us had a fantastic time.” 

“Indeed.” Alfred knitted his brow and eyed Harry with suspicion. “I shall pass the message along. Thank you, Mr. Ellison. Allow me to show you out.”

Dick watched Harry pull away from the manor through the sitting room window, then flopped onto the settee when he was out of sight. 

“Please treat the furniture with care, Master Richard,” Alfred half-heartedly admonished. “It seems you had a brilliant time at the Ellison’s Lake House. Did you make any friends? I’m sure the opportunity to play with children your own age was appreciated.” 

Dick sat up, stiff. That’s right… it was meant to have been an event. Lots of kids, swimming and playing and camping. Not the… _private_ thing it turned out to be. He wasn’t sure what he should say. Would it be wrong to tell Alfred the kids couldn’t make it? Would he be betraying his ‘special’ friendship if he told the truth?

“It was great. Didn’t really make any friends though,” Dick lied, “it felt like I was butting in on family time, I guess?”

The deception felt weak and transparent. But Alfred smiled warmly nonetheless. “I can imagine it was rather like a family reunion for them. Nevertheless, I am pleased you enjoyed yourself. Now, if you are hungry, I’ve prepared a small breakfast for you in the kitchen.” 

Alfred started to walk out of the room, then stopped and looked back at Dick. “I will endeavor to hold Master Bruce to his lunchtime commitment with you. And I will make it quite clear to him that breaking promises is unacceptable. I am truly sorry he disappointed you.” 

“What else is new,” Dick mumbled under his breath. 

The rest of the morning was uneventful. Dick went directly to his room after breakfast, played games on the phone Harry gave him, and attempted to read some of the books Bruce had assigned on forensics and psychology. He didn’t get far, and was grateful for the soft knock on his door around noon. Hastily, he shoved the secret phone under his pillow and went into the hallway, where Bruce was waiting. 

“Hey chum,” he began. “Sorry about breakfast. I thought I could make it up to you with some lunch in the gardens? Maybe some basketball, after?” 

Dick shrugged noncommittally and followed a step behind Bruce down the stairs and onto the back porch, where tea sandwiches and fruit sat on an ornate table. 

They ate in silence. Occasionally, Bruce looked like he might try and start a conversation, but faltered. As they finished the meal, he nodded decisively and said, “I wanted to let you know that I spoke to Veronica Abernathy again. The woman who said those rude things about you at the luncheon? She asked to apologize to you in person. Would that be alright?”

Without thinking or looking up, Dick echoed Harry’s sentiments from that day precisely. “Veronica Abernathy is a cunt.” As soon as he heard the words come out of his mouth, he flinched. 

“What did you say?” Bruce whispered furiously, as if he couldn’t believe his own ears. “It is _unacceptable_ for you to use language like that. Ever!” His whisper had turned to a shout. “Go to your room! Now!”

“But I just got _out_ of my room!” Dick stood abruptly, knocking his chair back onto the large stone tiles with a bang. “You said we’d spend time together. You _said_ we’d play basketball together!”

“That was _before_ you said…” Bruce trailed off and closed his eyes tight, shaking his head in frustration. “This is not up for discussion. Go!” 

“I hate it here!” Dick declared, “and I hate _you_!” 

He stormed back up to his room, feeling lonelier than he ever had before. Bruce, it seemed, looked for any excuse to avoid spending time with him. His hand groped for the phone under his pillow, and he texted Harry immediately. 

_”Bruce has been back less than an hour and I’m already in trouble. He sent me to my room. I don’t want to be here. He hates me.”_

Only a few moments passed before there was a reply.

_”Oh, kiddo. I’m so sorry Bruce only views you as an inconvenience. For what it’s worth, I asked Margo to invite the two of you to dinner tomorrow. I’ll do what I can to make it better when I see you.”_

A photograph followed - a picture of Dick nestled against Harry’s bare chest, fast asleep and smiling. 

_”Until then, just remember this, and remember I love you.”_

Dick sighed. Harry was trying to make him feel better. But the whole situation made him feel uncomfortably _tight_ , like the secrets and the sadness were squeezing the life out of him. He tried to take breaths, and he pretended to be _anywhere_ other than in his stuffy, pretentious room. 

When he heard low voices beyond the hallway, he slipped the phone away again, and opened his door a crack. 

Alfred and Bruce were in the lower foyer. Having a discussion. Their voices echoed, and once Dick had tiptoed a few steps out of his room, he could hear them clearly. 

“I don’t know what to do, Alfred. He’s so _angry_ and defiant. And the language! Where would he have picked up a word like that?” Bruce demanded. 

“Perhaps one of the older boys at the Ellison’s?” Alfred suggested. 

“No,” Bruce countered, “Margo told me today the grandkids couldn’t make it. Something about it being too little notice.”

There was an uncomfortably long pause, and Dick held his breath, feeling exposed. Because he told Alfred…

“Master Richard said it was practically a family reunion. That he’d had a grand time with the other children, but had not made any friends.” There was confusion and concern in the butler’s voice as he spoke. 

Bruce sighed heavily, sounding defeated. “Great. So the lying hasn’t stopped, either. I don’t know what to do.” 

“Are you venting frustration, or asking advice, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked tartly. “Because if you are asking for advice, and I certainly hope you are, I would tell you to _talk to the boy_. You’ve done nothing but take him from event to event like a show pony, with irregular sleep and no outlet for fun or activity. You’ve allowed people like the Abernathy woman to demean him without reprisals. And then, when he wants to spend a sliver of time with you, you’ve made yourself unavailable.”

“Alfred, I…” Bruce began. 

“No,” Alfred continued, “I am not finished. When you told me you wanted to take Master Richard in, I was delighted. But I was also concerned. I told you that your life would have to change drastically. That a child needs _more_ than food and a warm place to sleep. But you’ve provided little else, and I am poor recompense for the father figure he _needs_. So you _will_ set aside your anger, find your patience, and go talk to him.” 

“You’re right,” Bruce said quietly. “And it wasn’t just Veronica Abernathy… I’ve made a mess of this, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Alfred said gently, “you have. But you can make amends. It will just take hard work, commitment, and discipline. Three things you have more than mastered.” 

After another sigh, Dick heard slow footsteps on the stairs. Quickly, he darted back into his room and curled up on his bed. Whether or not Bruce felt sorry for shirking his _obligation_ , Dick wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to him yet. Of course, when Bruce opened his door, it was clear it wouldn’t be his decision. 

“Hey chum. Can we talk?” 

“Do I have to?” Dick mumbled. 

“I’d really like it if you did,” Bruce replied quietly. 

Resigning himself to the lecture he was sure was coming, he sat up in bed and pulled his knees to his chest. “Ok.” 

“Look, I know things have been rough lately. You’ve been lying and swearing and acting very differently than the Dick Grayson I’m used to. And I’ve just been… reacting, instead of trying to find out why.” Bruce shook his head, seeming to sense that was not the best opener. 

“What I’m trying to say is, all of this started after that first gala. From the minute we got there, people were saying horrible, racist and insulting things to you. Instead of calling them out, I…” Bruce closed his eyes tight and sighed, “I told you that you had to put up with it for the sake of the foundation. And you _did_. I shouldn’t have said that. I should have stopped it. I’m sorry.”

Dick nodded. It didn’t make things completely better. But Bruce was _trying_. That apology was heartfelt and sincere. Maybe Harry _wasn’t_ always right. 

Maybe there _was_ someone else in the world that might love him. 

For a moment, they both sat on the bed together in awkward silence. Bruce was propped precariously on the edge, giving Dick as much space as possible. The breathing room felt… good. Sometimes, with Harry, he felt like he was suffocating. Hugs were fine, but Harry seemed to always have at _least_ a hand on him, and sometimes…

Sometimes more. 

But the barrier of air between him and Bruce made Dick feel… safe. Like his guardian wouldn’t trespass where he wasn’t invited. 

At last, Bruce let out an uneasy laugh. “For what it’s worth, while I don’t condone foul language like what you used at lunch, Veronica Abernathy _is_...abrasive.” 

Dick smiled brightly. “Yeah. That’s what I meant to say.” 

“I thought so. Just a simple misunderstanding, then.” Bruce stood and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. 

“Can we still play basketball today?” Dick asked tentatively. 

A long frown settled on to Bruce’s face. “No, I don’t think so. I only had an hour and a half to come home before I had to leave again. I need to get back. I’m sorry.”

Of course. Nothing was going to be different. All of that was just empty words to make _Bruce_ feel better. Dick was an idiot for believing he gave a damn. 

There was nothing else to be said. Bruce left the room without looking back, and Dick resumed his position curled up on his side. He grabbed his phone again and scrolled through all the pictures Harry had sent him already. 

_“I miss you.”_ he typed. 

_“I know. I miss you too. And I love you. I’m the only one who does.”_

Tears fell, and Dick finally realized it was true.


	7. The Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While this entire story has been based on an amalgamation of known grooming techniques and my own experiences, this chapter, specifically, draws heavily from my own life. 
> 
> It is important to note two things.
> 
> 1\. This chapter was by far the most emotionally difficult to write, and will likely be the most difficult to read. I urge you to please keep yourself safe and avoid this chapter if any of the tags could be potentially triggering. This chapter has the potential to be very upsetting. I tried to capture my own reactions to the events this chapter was based on, and they are viscerally horrible.
> 
> 2\. As before, Dick’s perception (and all Children’s, in this situation) is extremely distorted. A predator like Harry works hard to blur the lines of friendship, love, and abuse, until very little makes sense anymore. Children will often recant details of their disclosures to protect their abusers. This does not mean the abuse didn’t happen. Dick’s perception of love in this chapter is especially skewed.
> 
> Stay safe, friends.

Bruce hadn’t returned by dinner time. Not that Dick was surprised. He probably left Wayne Enterprises and went directly on patrol. Without him. Alfred tried to take the sting out with warm brownies and vanilla ice cream, but he wasn’t interested. 

“Master Bruce is tying up loose ends as we speak,” Alfred said as he cleared away dishes, attempting to be reassuring. “My understanding is that he intends to be available all week for training _and_ recreation. You’ll also be pleased to know he accepted an invitation from Margo Ellison to attend dinner at their residence tomorrow. You, of course, are welcome to attend as well.” 

Even though he was genuinely excited, it was hard to act _surprised_. Harry had already told him about dinner earlier this afternoon. He settled on a suitably noncommittal response. “Sounds good.”

Satisfied, Alfred managed a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you get some fresh air outside before you retire for the evening, hm?” 

“Yeah. Whatever,” Dick grumbled under his breath. If Alfred noticed the attitude, he didn’t say. 

Basketball, he hoped, would take his mind off the aching chasm that was his loneliness. But he just spent the time sitting on the grass and lazily rolling the ball from one hand to the next. Games, after all, weren’t very fun with just one player. Dick laid back and watched the sky darken, wishing it was tomorrow night already.

—————

Dick bounced a little in the limousine seat, hardly able to contain his excitement. Less than 48 hours had passed since his time at the Ellison’s lake house, but he was eager to see Harry again. He felt unanchored and afraid without the man’s reassurances, even though he felt confused and bewildered in his presence. Still, it would be good to at least get the chance to hug him, or hear him say ‘kiddo’ with fondness. Dick hadn’t realized how much he needed that until he was faced with the prospect of time without it. 

Alfred pulled the car in front of a tall, ultra-modern building with large glass doors and a uniformed man in a cap stationed outside. Dick ignored Bruce’s outstretched hand and climbed out of the limo without help. He wasn’t a baby. Harry understood. 

The Ellison’s penthouse glittered more than the entrance. Glossy white and spotless silver dominated the decor. Dick couldn’t help the surprised gasp that bubbled out when he took in the view over the balcony infinity pool. From high up, Gotham always looked beautiful, but Batman and Robin rarely had the opportunity to work in the Diamond District. Out here, the city was radiant. 

“Please, come in and make yourselves at home!” Margo kissed both of Bruce’s cheeks, then bent down a little to put her palm on Dick’s. “Harold is almost finished with our meal. He’s a surprisingly good cook. Dick, honey, why don’t you lend him a hand? Women are always impressed with culinary skills, and it’s never too early for a young man to learn!” 

Eagerly, Dick took off for the kitchen. Harry’s face lit up when the boy rounded the corner. 

“Kiddo!” Harry crouched down and opened his arms wide. Dick jumped at the chance for a hug, and he buried his face in the man’s chest. He smelled like citrus and basil, and Dick felt the tension drain out of his muscles as Harry held him. 

“I missed you,” Dick said quietly. 

“I missed you, too,” Harry replied. 

Dick was Harry’s shadow for the rest of the visit. In the kitchen, he sat on a stool beside the stove and giggled when he was given the job of ‘taste-tester extraordinaire’. At dinner, he claimed the seat closest to the man and smiled inwardly when Harry surreptitiously pressed his thigh against Dick’s under the table. By the end of the meal, just before dessert, they were able to hold hands out of sight without anyone being aware. 

“Oh no, Harold!” Margo exclaimed from the kitchen. “The creme brûlée Vivian preparer earlier didn’t set! It’s practically soup!” 

“Margo keeps trying to find a cook to take some of the pressure off of me. So far, she can’t find anyone who holds a candle.” Harry smiled broadly at Bruce and continued, “though, I think she’d try and poach your butler from you if she could. According to her, he’s a fantastic chef.” 

Harried, Margo returned to the dining room. “Go to the shop on the corner and get some ice cream, would you Harold? It’s not in any way luxurious, but they do make it themselves, and have quite a variety of flavors.”

Harold dutifully stood up. 

“Can I go, too?” Dick asked hopefully. 

“I don’t know, kiddo. That’s up to Bruce, not me.” Harry shrugged and offered a sympathetic look. 

“Can I please go, Bruce? Please?” 

Bruce looked at the pleading boy and sighed. “Alright. But stick right to Mr. Ellison.” 

A brilliant smile tore across Dick’s face. “I promise!” He grabbed Harry’s arm and tugged him toward the elevator. “Come on!” 

They were halfway to the ice cream shop when Harry grabbed Dick’s shoulders and maneuvered him into an alley. Behind a dumpster, the man pushed against him and kissed him.

“That went perfectly. And what’s a few sabotaged creme brûlée’s between friends, hm?” 

Dick didn’t smile. “I don’t want to be back here, Harry. It smells and it’s not safe…”

“This is the only chance we’re going to get to be alone together tonight, kiddo. Beggars can’t be choosers.” Harry slipped his hand inside Dick’s trousers and flattened his palm, rolling and kneading as Dick pulled close. The boy gasped and dug his fingernails into Harry’s wrist. 

“I don’t… I don’t think we should be doing this.” Dick bit back at unwanted moans, but Harry heard them. He laughed, and there was an edge in the sound that made Dick very afraid. 

“You love me, don’t you?” Harry asked, pleased when Dick nodded. “Good. I want you to do something for me. Turn around.” 

Panting, Dick tentatively did what he was told. He pressed his belly against the brick wall of the alley, and gasped in shock when Harry pulled his pants down to his knees. 

“What are you doing?” The boy hissed. “I don’t want to be out here like this. What if someone sees?” He tried to grab for his clothes, but Harry snatched his arm and held it tight. 

“This is Gotham, kiddo. Even if someone sees, they aren’t going to care. I can’t wait any more to _really_ be with you. I love you too much to hold on any longer.”

Trembling, Dick bit his lip when he felt something small and slick press inside him. Inside parts that no one should _ever_ touch. “Harry, please. Don’t. I’m scared,” he whimpered. 

“Shh, shh…” Harry soothed. “I just want to show you how much I love you. You seemed so sad when you texted me. If we share our love like this, you’ll feel better. I promise.” 

When Dick felt more pressure, and a large hand clamping down over his mouth, he closed his eyes. Imagined the circus. Flying high with his parents. The safety he felt in their arms. Their love was nothing like this. This was frightening. And painful. He opened his eyes again and stared at a sickly looking cat nearby, toying with a rat. Then he was drifting. Far away from the alley and Harry’s ‘love’. 

Was he screaming? He didn’t know. None of his senses seemed to be working properly. 

Finally, above the rushing, throbbing sound of his own blood in his ears, he heard a voice. Harry’s voice, breathless and whispering. 

“Oh, kiddo. Thank you. For letting me share that with you. I love you so, so much. We’re really _together_ , now. Let’s get you dressed, then go get that ice cream, yeah?”

Numb, Dick nodded, then turned around and rested his back on the cool, rough wall behind him. Tenderly, Harry pulled the boys pants up and buttoned them. “There we go. What flavor do you think you want?” 

“I don’t care,” Dick mumbled. Anything to get out of this alley, away from the smell of garbage, away from the mutilated rat’s corpse the cat had left behind. 

The trip to the ice cream shop and back was a black hole in Dick’s memory. They must’ve made it, because he found himself standing in the elevator next to Harry, who was holding a plastic bag with pints in a variety of flavors. Blankly, he stared up at the man, his _friend_ , but wasn’t reassured by the smiling face looking back at him. 

“You’re ok, kiddo. You did great.”

Dick felt nauseous. 

When the elevator doors opened, Harry called out, “we’re back! Not sure if Dick’s feeling up to ice cream anymore, though. He said he wasn’t feeling well.” 

“What happened to the poor thing?” Margo rounded the corner into the hallway and stooped down to look Dick in the face, then put her hand to his forehead. “He’s pale and clammy… he must be coming down with something.” 

“You ok, chum?” Bruce asked. He stood behind Margo, concerned but looking out of his depth. 

The bright lights, the silver and white walls, the voices, the hands… 

Dick turned to Harry, and with a pleading look in his eyes, vomited. 

“Oh goodness! Come here, little one, let’s get you wiped off.” Margo carded her hands soothingly through Dick’s hair. “Harold, go change. Bruce, get a cool towel from the kitchen.” Everyone dispersed with their orders, and Margo turned her attention back to Dick. “You sweet thing. Stomach bugs are never fun. Do you think you’ll be sick again?” 

Urgently, Dick nodded, and Margo carefully moved him into the bathroom, where he vomited in the toilet. 

Bruce crowded in, and pressed the cool cloth to the back of Dick’s neck. “Feeling any better?” He asked. 

He wasn’t sure. There was so much that didn’t make sense anymore. But his stomach clenched against emptiness, now, so Dick nodded. “A little.” 

“I’d better get him home, I’m sorry Margo. Send me the bill for whatever cleaning needs to be done…”

Bruce’s voice was shaky. Wavering. Dick had never seen him so…

Worried. 

“Absolutely. Get him in clean, warm pajamas and have him drink some flat ginger ale.” Carefully, Margo helped Dick to his feet, then continued, “ I don’t want to hear another word about ‘cleaning bills’, though. Go. Take care of your little one. I’ll give Harold your regards.” 

Slowly, Bruce and Dick made it down the elevator, past the doorman, and to the curb where Alfred was already waiting. Bruce must’ve sent him a message at some point, but Dick couldn’t remember when. So much of the night was a haze. So much didn’t seem real. 

In the limo, he curled up tight in the corner seat and clenched his eyes shut. Why had Harry done that? Dick had told him to stop, said he was scared and Harry had…

Harry had…

Hurt him. Hurt him in a way he didn’t realize he could be hurt. 

Maybe Harry _never_ loved him. 

But that would mean no one did. And that was a reality he couldn’t bear. So of course, Harry loved him. He said so himself. 

Bruce insisted on carrying Dick to bed. And for once, he allowed himself to be coddled. He was too empty to fight back, anyway. After he was in PJs and tucked into bed, he pretended to be asleep until he was alone. Beneath his pillow, his phone vibrated. The notifications showed 10 messages waiting for him. 

_”You left without saying goodbye._

_You shouldn’t have done that._

_I love you._

_Answer this message, kiddo._

_You’re worrying me._

_I love you._

_Answer me._

_I can make it hurt worse, next time. I don’t want to, but I will if you don’t answer me._

_I give you gifts, love, attention, and this is how you repay me? Answer my messages, Dick._

_I’m sorry. I know you’re not feeling well. I’m just so worried about you._

_Please answer me, kiddo. I miss you already.”_

As he scrolled, his panic grew. The overwhelming emotions threatened to make him dizzy. 

Harry _loved_ him. He said it many times, without the hint of a lie. They were _friends_ and they made each other feel _good_ but…

Why did it all make Dick feel so _afraid_? And why would someone who loved him hurt him so much?

Suddenly, he heard voices just outside his room. He silenced the offending device and tucked it away.

Through the door, he listened to Alfred and Bruce. 

“I assure you it is very common for boys his age to become ill. I will station myself in the guest room across the hall in the event he needs someone, but he _will be fine_.” Alfred’s voice was stern, and it was obvious that this was not the first time this evening he had said exactly the same thing. 

“And I appreciate that, Alfred, but I still think I’d feel better if you called Leslie…” Bruce made a valiant attempt at arguing, but stopped short. 

“There is no need to alert Dr. Thompkins at present. If that changes you will be the first to know, now please leave the boy to his rest!” Exasperation bled into the butler’s voice. It was unlike Bruce to be so uneasy, and Alfred was doing his best to keep the man calm. 

“I’m _only_ going to peek in on him. Just see for myself that he’s sleeping and ok.”

As the door creaked open, Dick closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep again. But it must have been glaringly obvious this time because Bruce stepped into the room fully, closed the door behind him, and said “I know you’re awake, chum.” 

Caught, Dick sat up. “Sorry, you just seemed like you were worried. I thought if I was asleep you could stop.” 

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “I _am_ worried. I care about you. And…” Bruce faltered as he tried to put the words together, “seeing you so sick scared me. I’m supposed to protect you and keep you safe and I couldn’t do any of that. It’s not like Batman can stare down a stomach virus and make it turn and run.” 

The thought made Dick laugh a little. 

“But,” he continued, “you don’t have to hide things from me to keep me from worrying. Ok? It’s my job to be concerned about you.” 

“Sorry I puked at the Ellison’s.” Dick said quietly. 

“It’s fine,” Bruce chuckled, “Margo said they were thinking of redecorating anyway. Now get some rest. Alfred’s right across the hall.” Gently, the man smiled, and Dick took the opportunity to lean in for a hug. Unsure, Bruce wrapped his arms around the boy and held fast. 

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly feeling hot tears spill down his cheeks. How had he not seen it before? How did he not feel the worry and care Alfred and Bruce carried for him?

How did he forget that _this_ was what love felt like? 

“Bruce?” Dick’s voice trembled and Bruce knitted his brow. 

“You going to throw up again? There’s a bucket right over…”

The pounding in Dick’s chest had become painful. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t go on like this. Balling up his fists and doing his best to steady his voice, he whispered, “I know you’ll be mad, but I have to tell you a secret. Something I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” 

“Of course,” Bruce said. “You can tell me anything.”

Slowly, Dick snaked his hand under his pillow and pulled out the phone Harry had given him. 

Perplexed, Bruce held out his hand for the device, and examined it closely. “This… isn’t yours. Where did you get this?” 

With a bowed head and a hitch in his breath, Dick replied, “Mr. Ellison. That’s who I was texting the night you took my phone. He wanted me to still be able to talk to him.” 

Bruce jolted, his muscles flexing like they did when a threat lurked nearby. He accessed the screen, and tapped _Messages_. With a noise somewhere between a sob and a growl, Bruce clenched his jaw hard enough to be painful as he scrolled through page after page of threats and lewd conversations. He froze, breathing erratically, when he saw a photograph of Dick. Kneeling between Harold Ellison’s bare thighs. With his mouth...

“I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m so, so sorry…” Dick babbled apologies, very aware of his guardian’s growing rage. 

“No,” Bruce whispered, keeping his voice tight and contained, “you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. This is _not_ your fault. This is…”

Bruce gasped, as if he’d just realized something horrible. 

“Did Harold hurt you tonight?”

It was a simple question. With a simple answer. But Dick couldn’t get his mouth to form the word ‘yes’. Because Harry hadn’t hurt him on _purpose_ , had he? Maybe if he explained the context, Bruce would understand. 

“He didn’t mean to. On the way to the ice cream shop, we went into an alley and hid behind a dumpster. I think… I think we had sex.” 

Bruce covered his mouth with his hand, and his fingernails dug into his cheek. This was Dick’s worst fear - Bruce’s reaction. Why did he tell? Bruce was angry. Disgusted. He would push him away and then where would he go? Harry wouldn’t have him, he violated their secret. At _best_ he’d be on the street. At worst…

_”I’m sure Bruce wouldn’t hesitate to send you back.”_

Ok, maybe he _was_ going to throw up again. He grabbed for the bucket and heaved into it uselessly. 

The commotion brought Alfred into the room. Immediately, he began fussing. “Oh dear, vomiting again? Let’s get you…”

“Call Leslie. Now.” Bruce’s interrupting whisper sounded frightened and urgent. 

“I hardly think that’s necessary, Master Bruce,” Alfred tried to explain, “it is perfectly normal…”

Bruce shook his head, and filled his lungs until his chest looked tight enough to burst, “Dick was...” Bruce hesitated, and cast a wary glance at the boy. “Dick was raped. He needs a doctor.” 

Alfred sagged against the door frame with his hand pressed to his chest. “My God... Yes of course, Master Bruce. Right away.” 

With an unusual amount of haste and discoordination, Alfred left the room. Between bouts of retching, Dick cried.

“It’s ok, you’re going to be ok,” Bruce whispered, his hands hovering over the boy, unsure of where, or if, he should touch. “I promise, we’ll get this sorted out.”

Bruce pushed back against a sob, and finally decided to press a steady hand on Dick’s shoulder. “You are so incredibly brave, and I am proud of you for telling me. He should never have done that to you. That isn’t love.” 

With a shuddering sigh, Dick leaned into the touch, and finally understood. Harry had manipulated him. Frightened him. Hurt him. And Bruce was right. 

That isn’t love.


	8. The Caretaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Initially, I wanted this story to be entirely from Dick’s perspective. I realized, however, that a major portion of the narrative would be missing - Bruce’s. So I retooled this chapter into one through Bruce’s eyes.

By the time Leslie arrived, Bruce had gotten Dick situated in the entertainment room with a cup of hot tea and a mild television show - something juvenile and Mickey Mouse related. Too young for the boy, really, but Bruce wanted to pick something that was nonviolent and simple. Blankly, Dick stared at the screen and held the mug. Feeling helpless and dazed, Bruce stood in the corner of the room and kept watch. 

There was a light knock at the door. “Dick, honey? I’m going to come in and sit beside you now.” Leslie waited for a few seconds of silence, then joined him on the sofa. 

“I’m not sick,” Dick mumbled. “My stomach just got upset. It’s better now.” He set the cooling tea aside and pulled his knees up to his chest. “I’m not hurt, either. At least - it doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m ok. I promise.”

“I am very glad you’re not sick or in pain right now, Dick.” Leslie smiled at him and scooted forward so she could turn and look him in the eye. “It's important that I make sure you’re not injured, though. The exam won’t take long, and you can take as many breaks as you like, but it has to be done.”

“Why?” Dick curled up tighter, protecting himself. Bruce felt his heart break more, though he wasn’t sure how it was possible. The boy looked so _fragile_. His spirit used to fill the room, but now Dick just looked hollow. 

“It’s a good question, so I’ll give you a straight answer.” Leslie sighed and thought for a minute, then nodded as she settled on an explanation. “When an adult has… sexual intercourse with someone your age, injuries are common. And if you _do_ have an injury, and I don’t treat it, you could get _very_ sick.”

Dick shrugged. As if he didn’t care about the implications. Like getting deathly ill was his due. Bruce resisted the urge to break things. Any zeal for life his Robin had was gone. 

Harold Ellison had _stolen_ it. 

Since there was no reply, Leslie continued, “I think we should start the exam soon. Do you want Bruce to stay or leave?” 

With an empty expression, Dick looked to the corner where Bruce still stood. “I think I’d like Bruce to leave. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” Leslie said, as she began opening the components of an evidence kit, “this is about your comfort and nothing else. If you need me to stop at any point, tell me.” 

She turned her attention to Bruce. “He seems settled, so I can do it here. Why don’t you wait in the kitchen, check how Alfred’s doing and get a cup of tea for yourself. Should only take an hour or so.” 

Bruce didn’t want to leave. Of course, he trusted Leslie with his life. And his secrets. But, to a lesser degree, he had trusted Harold Ellison, too. The man had been friends with his parents. And Bruce had worked with Margo at the foundation for years. And Dick was still...

No. No self indulgence. Dick needed privacy, so privacy is what he would get. With a nod, Bruce turned and left the room. 

He walked across the foyer in a haze, feeling like he had been concussed. His thoughts refused to obey any sense of discipline, his steps felt uncoordinated, his world came in and out of focus. 

How had this happened? 

At last, he found himself in the kitchen. Alfred sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. He echoed Bruce’s thoughts precisely. “How did we not see what was happening?” 

The answer was there, buried in Bruce’s chest like a bullet. One he knew would be excruciating to excise. But he had to, because he felt like it was killing him. “This is my fault.” 

“No,” Alfred began, looking up with a nearly _furious_ expression. “Absolutely not. There is _one_ man to blame in all of this and it is not you.” 

Bitter bile washed up to the back of Bruce’s throat. “Really?” A sharp edge of sarcasm sliced at his tongue. “Who was it that put Dick in a predator’s hands - again and again? Who was it that practically coached Dick to just stay quiet for the sake of the foundation and business? Who was it that punished him and pushed him away for behavior that should have been an unignorable red flag?” He let a chair catch him as the weight of his guilt dragged him down. 

“It was me, Alfred,” he whispered. “This is my fault.” 

“Then I am to blame as well, Master Bruce.” Alfred reached out and briefly put a hand on Bruce’s arm. “I thought the Ellisons might be a boon. Experienced parents who could be there for Master Richard when you could not. A guiding force for you, as well.” 

Bruce just shook his head, so Alfred continued. “Neither of us had any way of knowing what Harold Ellison really was. The blame rests with him and him alone.” 

“No,” Bruce scoffed. “I am supposed to be ‘The World's Greatest Detective’. I should have known. I should have seen what was happening right in front of me. But I didn’t. I was distracted, absent. And Dick paid the price.”

Silence stretched on, and the kitchen clock marked the seconds as they passed with a hollow ‘tick tick’. Bruce stared, unfocused, at the wall. He felt the rage he had locked away seeping in, and he dug his fingernails into his palms in a failing effort to keep it at bay. 

Because right now what Bruce wanted, more than anything, was Harold Ellison’s beaten and bloody corpse at his feet. He fantasized about how it would feel to have the man’s bones splinter beneath his fists. How satisfying it would be to hear him scream in pain. 

But none of that could matter. Not now. Not _yet_. 

With a quiet knock, Leslie entered the kitchen, and sat the completed evidence kit on the table. Both men looked up at her, expectant, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. 

“There was definitive evidence of penetration.” She kept it clinical, devoid of emotion, but Bruce knew better. He knew the toll rape cases took on her, even when the victim was a stranger. But Dick was not a stranger. 

Alfred closed his eyes and shook his head, like he was trying to shake away the pain of knowing, with certainty, what had happened. 

“The bruising was considerable, but lacerations were at a minimum. Nothing I needed to treat. I doubt there was much of a struggle. There often isn’t, with cases like this.” Leslie was doing her best to remain detached. Professional. So she continued without additional commentary, even though everything about her posture said her heart was breaking. “I’ve given him a sedative, and he’s sleeping now. It should also help with any nausea that persists, though that was likely a trauma response and not a genuine illness.”

“Thank you, Leslie,” Bruce whispered. He reached for the evidence bags, but she snatched them away. 

“These have to go to the _police_ , Bruce. If I break the chain of custody _none_ of this can be used in court. Did they give you an estimate of when they would be arriving?” She looked at him, waiting and exasperated. Leslie could always see through him, even when he was a boy. 

Bruce was certain she already suspected, but nevertheless he replied, “I didn’t call them.” 

Disappointment, not surprise, read clearly on her face, and she shook her head. “I should have suspected as much. And I assume you intend to put on that infernal costume, drive to the Ellison's home, and give Harold an impromptu dental realignment?”

When there was no reply, she exhaled hard, then tutted with disgust. “Really, Bruce. I didn’t know you were that _selfish_.”

Bruce winced. He felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. No - it wasn’t selfishness. Was it? Harold Ellison had to be held to account. Only Batman could make that happen. The police in Gotham? Unlikely. Then again, hurting Ellison, making him suffer… the satisfaction in that would be entirely selfish. 

Softening, Leslie continued. “Bruce, I know you mean well. And believe me, I get it. I once placed a chest tube in a rapist without anesthesia because I wanted to make him suffer. But you have to look beyond vengeance, here. Dick needs _help_ \- resources that are available to children who have been through things like this. And he’s still confused. You could damage your relationship beyond repair if you go and batter someone he thinks he _loves_.” 

He hadn’t considered that. Though, the thought of Dick still having any positive feelings toward that… monster made Bruce’s stomach churn. 

“Also,” Leslie sighed, clearly attempting to choose words carefully, “there are the other victims to consider.”

“ _Other_ victims? What do you mean? Did Dick tell you there were others?” Bruce felt like he was spinning, and he could barely focus on the answer. 

“I know you’re not that naive, Bruce. Dick didn’t say anything to that effect but he didn’t _have_ to. You know as well as I do the psychology behind predators like Harold Ellison. And last I heard, he had a handful of kids of his own, and nearly a dozen grandchildren.”

Bruce dragged in a shuddering breath, “and a wife who holds a position on the board of a foundation devoted exclusively to the service of vulnerable young people. My God. He’s had access to hundreds, maybe thousands of kids, Leslie.” 

Soberly, Leslie nodded. “And that is why you must call the police, Bruce. There needs to be an investigation. Someone needs to find out the scope of this. If you’re not sure who to trust, call the Lieutenant you like so much. Gordon, was it? But this is too big to be solved with a single night of violence, however well deserved it may be.”

—————

Once Lieutenant Gordon had been called, Bruce walked back to the room where Dick was resting and watched him sleep. Carefully, he pulled a chair close and just listened to his steady breathing. Had he _ever_ really been paying attention? Because he couldn’t remember when some of the baby fat covering his cheekbones had begun to recede. Couldn’t recall when he’d gotten so _big_. It had only been a little over a year since he came to Wayne Manor, but so much about him had changed. He loathed himself for not remembering _when_.

Bruce smiled as the boy snuggled closer to his stuffed elephant and sighed sleepily. Part of him hoped Dick would rest longer. Bruce didn’t want him to have to wake up and _remember_. He looked serene just the way he was. The way he _deserved_ to be. 

Still, Bruce knew it couldn’t last. Gordon said they would arrive at the manor in less than an hour, and he didn’t want Dick to feel ambushed. So gently, very gently, he leaned forward and jostled the boy’s shoulder. 

It took a moment, and a few deep breaths, but Dick finally opened his eyes. Bruce’s heart broke. He could almost see the memories settle into place in Dick’s mind. The penthouse. The dinner. A ruined dessert. A filthy alley. None of the peacefulness from earlier remained on his face, and he stared up at Bruce with a question in his eyes. 

He decided to head any concerns off at the pass. “Hey, chum. You’re alright. Leslie just thought you needed some rest. How’re you feeling?”

Dick sat up and attempted to hide a wince. “I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to watch me sleep.”

“I wasn’t,” Bruce denied, “I was just… waiting for you to wake up.”

Dick bristled, skeptical. How long had it been, since the boy truly _trusted_ him? Really, though, had Bruce given him any reason? Dick’s wariness felt like another well-deserved wound in Bruce’s heart. 

He looked at his feet and took a deep breath. After a few seconds, he looked back to Dick. “The police will be here soon. They want to talk to you and find out the best way to keep you safe.” 

Looking confused and afraid, Dick jumped up from the couch. “Why did you call them!?” 

“Dick,” Bruce tried to reason, “you were abused and raped by Harold Ellison, the police need to…”

“Don’t say that! It wasn’t like that! _Harry_ isn’t like that!” He shook his head and looked at the floor in a failing attempt to hide his tears. “I told you, he didn’t mean to hurt me. He is… he was… my friend.” 

Bruce hated himself for choosing such blunt words. Leslie had _warned_ him that Dick’s perception would be… distorted. So he tried a different approach. 

“I know you thought he was,” Bruce said gently, “and I can’t begin to imagine how confusing he made this for you. A woman from Child Services is coming to…”

“Please, don’t send me back. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve caused a lot of trouble with all of this, I didn’t mean to be such a problem…” 

The non-sequitur made Bruce’s head spin. But Dick was panicked. Terrified. He had to make it better. He had to try and understand. 

“Back? You mean to the Youth Center, why would I…” Bruce’s eyes widened in horrified understanding. “That’s what he said to keep you from telling me. Didn’t he? That I would send you away?”

Dick flinched. It made Bruce sick. Not just that Ellison would insinuate that the boy was disposable to him, but that Bruce had been so aloof and unavailable that Dick was able to _believe_ it with such intensity. “I will never, _ever_ send you away. You’re my…”

He hesitated, and took another deep breath. _’My son’_. That’s what Bruce wanted to say. But Dick was still disoriented and vulnerable. They had never addressed the issue of adoption or familial ties, before. Now was not the time. So he settled on something just as true, but less charged with emotion and expectation. 

“You’re my _partner_. We’re in this together, no matter what happens. Do you understand? You are the most important person in my life. And I’m so sorry I let you forget that.” 

“I really messed up, didn’t I?” Dick squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head. Bruce felt like he couldn’t breathe - the boy had gone through so much, been so brave, and still he blamed himself. 

“No. No. Absolutely not. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just going to take some time before you see that for yourself.” Bruce ducked down to look Dick in the eye. “ _However_ long that takes, I’ll be by your side. We’ll get it figured out. Together.”

A few breaths passed and Dick seemed to calm. He sat back down on the couch, his muscles relaxed, but that same emptiness from before settled back into place, too  
.  
He stared blankly ahead, not looking anywhere in particular, when he asked flatly, “what’s going to happen to Harry?” 

Bruce swallowed down hard on the acid creeping up his throat and into his mouth. He knew precisely what he _wanted_ to happen to Harold Ellison. But violence and bloodshed wouldn’t help Dick, and he was the only one who mattered right now. Bruce steadied his voice and kept his reply short. 

“I don’t know. It’ll be up to the police, and a judge.” 

“Will I have to testify against him?” Dick’s posture didn’t change, but his fists balled up beside his thighs, worrying the thin blanket beneath them. 

“I don’t know,” Bruce replied, “sometimes victims in cases like these do, sometimes they don’t.” 

Dick nodded and closed his eyes. “I’m not a victim, Bruce,” he whispered. “I… I _liked_ some of what we did together, and… and…”

Quickly leaning forward, Bruce pulled Dick into his arms and squeezed tightly while the boy broke down and sobbed. A deep, fractured, horrible noise. He sounded like he was _shattered_ , like pieces of his spirit had splintered off and been ground down into dust. 

All Bruce wanted to do was to _fix_ this. But that was impossible. So he did his best to reassure him. To help Dick understand. 

“I know it’s so hard to see it, right now, but he used that against you. He wanted you to think this was something you shared, but it wasn’t. He did this _to_ you. He _hurt_ you and used you. And I am so sorry that happened, chum.” 

Sniffling, desperately trying to shove down the hitching sobs, Dick pulled back. When Bruce looked into his eyes, he saw a flicker of fire, of _life_ , again. 

“This hurts so much. I don’t want this to happen to anybody else, Bruce,” Dick said with determination. 

“Neither do I, chum. And when the police get here, we can do our best to make sure it doesn’t.”


	9. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for a “blink and you’ll miss it” mention of self harm

The lead up to Harold Ellison’s trial was a media sensation. Bruce did his best to shelter Dick from seeing the worst of the headlines, but there was only so much that _could_ be done. Everywhere they turned, Harry’s face looked out at Dick. Television broadcasts of his arrest and arraignment. Front page photos of the man under headlines that cried, “Unnamed Ellison Accuser Stands By Dubious Testimony”, or “Alleged Victim not Likely to Testify.” 

The gossip rags, predictably, were worse. They boasted wide ranging conspiracy theories that stopped just short of implicating all of Gotham’s elite, including Bruce, in the abuse of Ellison’s ‘unnamed victim’. A threat from the Wayne Enterprises’ team of lawyers made them pull the article and issue an apology, but it was too late. All of Gotham salivated in anticipation of the legal proceedings. They hung on every detail they could find. 

Still, Dick was taken aback when he awoke the morning of the opening statements to find Bruce engaged in an absolutely furious phone conversation. He craned his neck into the room where his guardian was standing and saw a newspaper bearing a new headline. 

_“Alleged Ellison Victim Identified as Wayne Heir”_

Frozen, he read the words again and again. Red hot shame filled his chest. There was no avoiding it now. No pretending it didn’t happen. 

Everyone _knew_. 

He closed his eyes, but it only shifted his focus to Bruce’s enraged voice. 

“I don’t care if you have to personally go to every newsstand in the city and buy every single paper, I want this headline pulled! It should have _never_ made it past your desk in the first place!” As soon as the last rage-tinged syllable made it out of his mouth, he jammed the ‘end call’ button, then clenched the phone in his fist. 

“Damn it. God damn it.” 

This felt like something Dick was never meant to see. Bruce’s anger, his _desperation_. It seemed private, and wrong to watch. But at least it was _emotion_. Since the night _it_ happened (he refused to name ‘it’), Bruce was a model stoic. Not too much sympathy. Not too much cheer. And never _anything_ negative. All of his feelings seemed custom curated to keep Dick as calm and coddled as possible. 

Dick hated it. 

This _thing_ that happened was horrible. And confusing. And so charged with emotion that sometimes Dick felt like he couldn’t contain it anymore, so he sobbed into his pillow, or raged at Alfred, or sliced at his thigh with a pilfered razor, just to find some release. 

And he felt like he was experiencing it all in a vacuum, because since everything started, Bruce never wavered. Bruce was always strong. Dick felt a wave of guilt. Seeing Bruce like this was…

A relief. 

The man, his guardian, his _partner_ wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed. He wasn’t _alone_. 

“You ok, chum?”

Dick’s eyes flew open as he was pulled from his thoughts by the concerned voice. “I’m sorry. I heard the call. I saw the paper. Everyone knows it was me, now. Don’t they?” 

Soberly, Bruce nodded. “They do. I tried everything I could… I’m so sorry, Dick.”

“I think…” Dick began, hesitating, “I think it’ll be ok. Maybe it will finally be _real_ for people. It’s not just an unnamed… accuser anymore.” 

Dick still couldn’t stomach the word ‘victim’. He’d _seen_ real victims before, as Robin. Seen how battered they were. That wasn’t him. Harry hadn’t hurt him until…

Until he did. 

And he wasn’t sure he really believed it would be ok, either. He _did_ feel like he deserved the publicity, and the shame that came with it. This was his fault. But he couldn’t say that to Bruce without the man shutting down even more, so he feigned optimism. 

“I hope you’re right,” Bruce said. “I really do. But if you’re not, things may get very intense, now. The press will want statements and interviews and pictures. We don’t have to give them anything.”

Dick sighed. The cold, emotionally detached Bruce was back. The mask was in place again. Dick was about to try and pick a fight, to goad any kind of reaction and to siphon off some of the tightness in his chest, when the doorbell rang. Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and he headed for the door. Dick followed, if only to sate his curiosity. 

“Alfred, if it’s anyone from the press tell them…” Bruce’s request remained unfinished. It wasn’t a reporter. It was Mrs. Ellison, looking devastated and very, very drunk. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Margo. I’m sorry.” Bruce kept his voice quiet, but there was a quality of sincere sadness. 

Mrs. Ellison turned to Dick and took a staggering step forward. “I’m so sorry, precious one. I guessed it was you, but Harold’s lawyers wouldn’t talk to me. Then I saw the paper this morning and - I’m so sorry…”

“You need to leave, Margo. For Dick’s sake _and_ your own.” Bruce put his hand on the woman’s shoulder, and she looked at it, bewildered, before continuing undeterred. 

“You have to know, I didn’t know. I didn’t know what he was.” Her words slurred together, and her mascara ran down her face, tracing along some of the deeper set wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t know what he did to you. Didn’t know why my grandbabies stopped visiting. I married a monster, and I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

She took a shuddering breath, and Bruce used the pause as an opportunity. “Margo. Listen to me. You can’t be here. Not now. You have to leave, or I’ll have to call the police and _make_ you leave.” 

The woman sobbed. Dick reached out for her hand, chilly against his warm, soft skin, and said gently, “It’s ok, Mrs. Ellison. It’s not your fault. I don’t have to forgive you because you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry you’re sad. I hope you can be happy again, soon.”

“Dear, sweet, thing,” she mumbled, “I’m not sure if I can be happy again. But I can make this right. I came to tell you that. I’m going to make it right. That… _man_ won’t hurt anyone ever again. I promise you that. So don’t worry, little one. You’re going to be safe, now.” 

“I’m calling the police, Margo. I’m sorry but this isn’t healthy for Dick, and it’s not good for you, either.” Reluctantly, Bruce pulled out his phone. 

“No. No, Bruce. I’m leaving. My driver is waiting. I won’t bother you again. I just had to say it. Just had to tell you…” Margo trailed off, lost in thought, before she turned and, swaying, walked out of the house and back down the driveway to her car. 

Dick watched as she rode away, and gasped in shock as she passed through the gates. There, he saw a growing swarm of cameras, vans, sound equipment, and people. 

Bruce must’ve seen it too. “Fantastic. The vultures are already here.” The man looked down at Dick, then kneeled to see him clearer. “Remember when I said things might get intense? It’s going to be very, very soon, now.”

—————

Bruce wasn’t wrong. Almost immediately, it seemed, a cadre of lawyers and PR specialists came. They pushed their way past what had become a blockade of press and paparazzi at the front gate. Once inside the manor, they set up shop in the dining room, with a dizzying array of phones, headsets and laptops. They covered the table with newspapers from the day, all with similar headlines. The worst of which...

_”Wayne Connection to Ellison Child Abuse Case Confirmed”_

...made it sound like Bruce was a _part_ of what had happened. Which was miles away from the truth. The press, it seemed, didn’t care much. As long as they sold papers or got ratings, they were happy. 

Dick stood by and watched events unfold - he had been long forgotten in the chaos. Everyone was too engrossed in damage control to notice the small boy in the corner. That could be ok. He preferred that over being left in the dark. 

“I thought there were laws to prevent this kind of thing. Aren’t minor victims protected?” Bruce had leaned over to talk to a woman typing furiously at one of the computers. Marissa, was it? Dick couldn’t remember, but it sounded right in his head. Marissa the Lawyer. 

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Wayne,” she replied, “we might be able to control the worst of the press with libel suits, but the protection of minor identities? It’s more of a… professional code. Media outlets tend to avoid naming minors. But as long as the information is true and legally obtained, they can run the story, regardless of how old the victim is.”

 _That_ word again. Dick felt himself wince anytime someone said it. _Victim_. It felt wrong when he applied it to himself. Like an incorrect name tag, conspicuous in its inaccuracy. 

He _couldn’t_ be a victim because this, and everything that happened?

It was his fault. 

No matter how many times Bruce or Leslie or Alfred said it wasn’t. No matter how many different ways the Social Worker who sometimes came to the house, now, told him. 

This was all his fault. 

And now Bruce is torn in a thousand directions trying to manage this. Alfred had permanently moved to the room across the hall from Dick’s to help soothe the inevitable nightmares. Mrs. Ellison was drunk and devastated. And Harry…

Harry was in a holding cell in the Gotham City Jail. The judge had declined to allow him bail.

He should have kept his mouth shut. Because Harry was right, that night at the art gallery. 

_”Keeping a secret is so much better than getting in trouble.”_

After the damage control brigade came the police. Lieutenant Gordon and a handful of uniformed officers. They pulled Bruce aside, into the foyer. Dick crept along, keeping to the edges of the wall and trying to stay out of sight. This was all because of him. His fault. He thought it was only fair he get to see how much his tattling cost everyone. 

“Just came by to give you the papers in person. Here’s a copy of the restraining order we served to Margaret Ellison, and here is the paperwork showing that the driveway to and from the manor is a main access road and can’t be blocked by the press. My officers will be on hand to make sure they comply.” Gordon handed the forms to Bruce, and then looked to Dick where he stood in the corner. He smiled and waved at the boy. Half heartedly, Dick returned the gesture. 

“Would you like me to call a social worker, Mr. Wayne?” Gordon asked. “I realize it’s not my business, but maybe it’d be better if the boy had someone to help him… occupy his time. You and your butler have your hands full right now.” 

Bruce looked over his shoulder at Dick and sighed, considering. 

“I’m not a baby, Bruce,” Dick protested. He fully understood what Gordon was insinuating - that he was too young to see what was happening. But this was all _because_ of him. He needed to know the scope of the damage he caused.

“I know you’re not. But I think the Lieutenant is _right_ ,” Bruce told him. “This is going to be a very long, very boring day. It would be good to have someone to spend some time with you, don’t you think?” 

Dick shrugged noncommittally. He wasn’t particularly interested in doing whatever a well-intentioned social worker thought 10 year olds liked. But he was sure, like everything else, it wouldn’t be up to him. He pictured spending the afternoon being forced to play with action figures while being asked awkward ‘therapeutic’ questions, and sighed. 

“I’d appreciate it if you had someone stop by, thank you Lieutenant.” Bruce nodded with finality. 

“Consider it done. Call if the department can help you with anything else.” 

Gordon waved goodbye to Dick. “Take care, kiddo.” 

‘Kiddo’. That was another word that Dick couldn’t tolerate anymore. Normal. Inoffensive. And the only thing Harry ever called him. It brought up too much. Thoughts of dirty alleys and dead rats toyed with by cats. Memories of a pain that felt like he was being torn apart. Terror and confusion and betrayal bubbled to the surface, and Dick turned abruptly, facing the wall to hide the tears he knew were coming. 

Because it wasn’t _all_ bad. But sometimes he wished it was. Wished he could forget the warm, tight hugs. The unplanned pizza party, the feeling that someone, _anyone_ understood him. 

Maybe, if he could forget the ‘good’, he could finally confront the bad without feeling guilty. Because, at some level, he had _wanted_ Harry to spend time with him. To dote on him and make him feel special. 

But, God, the price was too high. Too many people were wrapped up in this, hurting and overwhelmed. It was all his fault. 

Dick was instructed to wait in the front sitting room until the social worker arrived. He watched out of the window, idly waiting for her. Finally, a well-loved compact car slowly made its way down the impeccably kept flagstone driveway. Dick expected the usual social worker - the one that had come to the manor irregularly to ‘check in’ since the.. incident. _That_ woman was a plump, saccharine-sweet person with a clearly fake southern accent. 

The woman who stepped from her car and walked to the door was anything but. She was tall and knobby. Her hair was an untamed bramble of gray, and her large glasses obscured much of her face. Frankly, she looked _mean_ , and Dick wanted nothing to to with her. She rang the doorbell and waited. 

Dick knew he should greet her at the door. It was polite, after all. But he didn’t. Instead, he hopped off the settee and slid out of the room.

Opening statements would be starting soon, Harry would be arriving at the courthouse. There would be cameras everywhere. Quietly, Dick made his way back to the busy dining room, where he was sure they would be watching the news with rapt attention. 

He knew it was wrong, but he wanted to see Harry again. Even though he _understood_ what had been done to him was horrible. Even though he knew (but would never admit) that Harold Ellison was a predator and pedophile…

Dick had to make sure he at least _looked_ ok. 

He slipped into the dining room unnoticed, and stood at the very back. Peering around the adults at the table, he could see the live feed at the outside of the courthouse. Harry arrived, and the police carefully pulled him out of the transport vehicle and began to escort him to the entrance. 

Dick was so focused on Harry, he didn’t see the sudden movement in the crowd. He didn’t see who it was that pushed their way to the front. But he absolutely did hear the gunfire - three successive shots. Then he saw Harry drop to the pavement. 

Harry. His friend. His confidante. His rapist…

Was dead. 

Dick didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt himself in Bruce’s arms. 

“It’s ok. It’s ok. What were you even _doing_ in here, Dick?” Bruce picked him up and carried him out of the room. 

“This is my fault,” Dick choked out, gasping between sobs, “somebody is dead. Because of me.”


	10. The Subtext

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for Suicidal Ideation and discussions of Suicide

Breathing hurt. He’d been crying long enough that the air in his lungs felt like it was burning. 

Harry was dead. He saw it happen. 

A man had been _killed_. And Dick might as well have pulled the trigger himself. He’d only told Bruce what happened because he was afraid. Because he didn’t know what Harry would do next. Naively, he hoped Harry might get some _help_ after his arrest - someone to help him find the line between love and abuse. Someone to help make sure Harry never did… what he did ever again. 

That wasn’t possible anymore. And beneath the guilt and sadness, Dick felt something ugly and mean. 

He was _happy_. Savagely _content_ , now that Harold Ellison was gone. He was hopeful that, with that _man_ out of the way, things might get back to normal. For the first time since this all started, he wished he could go back to life _before_ Harry. Before the Lake House, and the art show. Before that first gala when everything in his world splintered, but he was too stupid to realize it. Until it was too late. Until...

Until Harold Ellison stripped him down in an alley in the Diamond District and raped him. 

The realization, the _words_ , felt like shattered glass trapped inside his skull - deadly sharp and crystal clear. His head pounded as each of Harry’s _violations_ \- of Dick’s trust, his privacy, his love, and his body - played on an endless loop behind his eyelids. And now Harry was dead. It was _over_. All Dick could feel was relief, and the horrible sensation that the relief was _wrong_. 

The guilt, the anger, the sadness, and the _liberation_ that came after the shooting only made Dick cry harder. The footage kept playing over and over in his mind. Three shots, then Harry dropped to the pavement. Bleeding. Dying. Dead. 

Three shots and an abuser dropped to the pavement. 

A pedophile was bleeding. 

A manipulator was dying. 

A rapist was dead. 

The clarity came in waves, and Dick felt like he was being pushed under. Drowned and crushed under the weight of really, _finally_ understanding what had happened to him. What had been _done_ to him. Deep, guttural _wails_ broke free from Dick’s chest, and he dug his fingernails into the fabric over his heart from the pain of it. 

The social worker didn’t help matters. She sat on a chair near Dick, patted his knee with her knobby fingers, and spoke loudly to Bruce over the boy’s weeping. 

“It’s entirely normal for a victim his age to be attached to his abuser. He’s grieving and you need to give him time. He should not have seen that in the first place, but what’s done is done.” 

The unwanted hand on his leg made him feel sick. “Get _off_ me!” Dick screamed at her, gasping for air and snarling through a sob. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! Leave me alone!” He stood and pushed her away when she tried to grab for him. 

She stepped back, dramatically offronted at Dick’s attempt to shove her. “If he doesn’t settle,” she said, still only addressing Bruce, “I will move him to a mental health facility for sedation and examination. I have legal grounds to do so in situations like this.” 

“Get out.” Bruce didn’t yell. The anger in his voice was obvious anyway. 

“Mr. Wayne, I really think…” she attempted to argue. 

“You are not taking him _anywhere_ ,” Bruce growled, clenching his jaw. “Get away from my _son_. Get out of my home. Now.” 

The social worker just stood there, mouth agape. Dick felt like the tension in the room and the pressure in his chest might kill him. He couldn’t handle any more stress or confrontation. Tearfully, he shouldered past the woman and stormed upstairs. 

In his bedroom, alone, he curled up on top of the brocade duvet, clutching his knees. His sobs were quieter, now - he kept his legs locked close to his body to stop himself from taking deep breaths. Still he felt his heart racing, painfully thrumming in his throat. He thought he was going to die. 

He thought that might be ok. 

After all, how can he come back from this? He was raped. He was a _victim_. The label felt so appropriate now it might as well have been seared into his skin. 

Thick, heavy exhaustion pulled him slowly down into an uneasy sleep. His chest still hitched softly while his breathing evened out. He hoped that maybe this new stillness _was_ death. At least then, all this pain would be _over_.

A soft knock at the door confirmed he was still alive. The shifted shadows told him hours had passed. Bruce stepped into the room and asked in a hush, “you ok?”

Miserable, Dick shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bruce.”

“You have nothing to be…” Bruce started the script he’d repeated since _that_ night. 

Dick couldn’t hear it again. He stopped Bruce with a whisper. 

“It’s my fault he’s dead. If I hadn’t said anything, he wouldn’t have been at the courthouse. He wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“No, Dick, it wasn't your fault. None of this has ever been your fault.” Bruce sat carefully on the edge of the bed and sighed the way he always did when he was trying to find a way to say something difficult. “That shooting wasn’t because of you. The man that killed Harold was hired by Mrs. Ellison. According to a note the police found in her apartment, two of her children, and six of her eleven grandchildren were also… had also been…”

Bruce might not have been able to say the words, but it was clear to Dick. He wasn’t the first. He wouldn’t have been the last. Harold would have kept hurting and hurting, carving into kids lives and leaving a bloody mess in his wake. People like that shouldn’t be alive, he thought. The guilt that followed felt like it was choking him. 

Dick started crying again, hyperventilating as he confessed, “I’m glad he’s dead. And I’m sorry I’m glad. I know I shouldn’t be. I _know_ you said that every life matters and I _know_ you’re disappointed in me…”

“Dick, stop. Breathe.” Bruce carefully placed a hand on the boy’s back. “It’s ok. There is a vast difference between killing someone and wishing they were dead. Being glad that he’s gone doesn’t make you responsible. It makes you human. And I think…”

Bruce paused, then motioned for Dick to sit up and look at him. 

“I think it means you’re starting to understand what that man was. You’re starting to realize what he really did. And that is a huge step that I am so proud of you for taking.” 

They sat together for a few minutes, neither saying a word. Then, something awful started to click.

“Is Mrs. Ellison going to jail?” Dick asked. 

Bruce winced, “Mrs. Ellison… I'm sorry. The police were at her apartment and they found her in her bed. She wasn’t alive.” 

Dick felt like he couldn’t cry anymore. He felt like it would be impossible for there to be any more tears. It didn’t stop them from cutting burning paths down his chapped cheeks. 

“What happened?” 

“I think,” Bruce began, “I think, when she found out her loved ones were hurt too, she couldn’t come up with a way to make things better for them. She couldn’t stop feeling like she had done something wrong, even though she hadn’t. So she made the choice to…”

“Die,” Dick supplied in a whisper. 

Slowly, Bruce nodded. “She always tried to do what was right for others, but I think, this time, she got it wrong. I wish she’d made a different decision.”

“Me too.” Dick sighed. “This wasn’t her fault at all. _Mr. Ellison_ hurt his grandkids, _hurt me_. She didn’t do any of that.” 

“You’re right.” Bruce nodded and smiled sadly. “And I think you’re very brave, for coming to that conclusion. I’m so proud of you. Really.” 

Cautiously, Bruce patted Dick’s shoulder and stood. “Alfred would really like it if you ate something. He worries.” 

“‘Kay,” Dick answered, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Alright.” Bruce looked back as he opened the door. “We’ll make it through this, Dick. Together. I’ll be there for you. I promise.” 

With a shuddering breath of relief, Dick nodded, not trusting himself to keep more tears at bay if he replied. 

Bruce left the room with the door slightly ajar. The aching maw of sadness and loneliness wasn’t closed, but it was receding. 

‘Together’. Bruce had said they’d come out the other side ‘together’ with such conviction Dick had no choice but to believe it. He closed his eyes and realized that now, finally, he remembered what love really meant.

No matter what happened, no matter how far he fell, Bruce would always catch him.

—————

Dick stood at the edge of the ballroom. The toes of his shiny black shoes were perfectly lined up with the transition between old, hand-hewn hardwood and polished marble. All he had to do was take a step. One single step, and he would be attending a gala for the first time since…

Since he was exploited by one of Gotham’s elite. Abused and _raped_ by one of Gotham’s elite. 

Now he stood, swaying slightly, trying to work up the courage to join them once again. Bruce told him he didn’t need to. That the event would be perfect even if he couldn’t make it. But Dick knew it was important. 

After the “Ellison Scandal”, as it came to be known, Bruce refocused the Martha Wayne Foundation to provide funds for exploited and sexually abused children. Tonight was the kick-off fundraiser. More than anything, Dick wanted to keep other kids from going through… _that_. He knew if he could put a _face_ to this, donations would be better. So he took a deep breath, and took a step. 

Quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself, he slipped through the crowd of partygoers and found Bruce. The man smiled warmly at him and said “I’m glad you could make it. I’m proud of you for coming.” 

Dick nodded seriously, “it’s important.” 

“It is,” he agreed, “but so are you. If you are uncomfortable for even a second…”

“Relax, Bruce,” Dick smiled, “I’m ok. I’ve got this.”

Bruce still looked unsure, but nodded and placed a steady hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving your side. I promise.” 

“I know.” Dick leaned in for a hug and sighed happily when Bruce wrapped his warm arms around him. “Thanks. You ready to give them a show?” 

Bruce chuckled. “As long as I have my partner with me, I think we can tackle anything. Together.”

Reading between the lines, Dick beamed. How had he missed it before? The unspoken declaration was now so clear to him, and he replied,

“I love you too, Bruce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story has been incredible! Thank you all so much for your support - it made writing such a personal story feel all the more satisfying.


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